


Crimson Skies

by oxygenforthewicked



Series: Smoke and Mirrors [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: AU, Angst, But only tasteful smut, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Free Marches (Dragon Age), I Will Go Down With This Ship, JK shameless smut, M/M, Revenge, Slavery, Slow Burn, Smut, Sorry Not Sorry, Spoilers, Tevinter Culture and Customs, Tevinter Imperium, Thedas, some strong language, spoilers everywhere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2018-05-31 12:41:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 35
Words: 113,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6470359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxygenforthewicked/pseuds/oxygenforthewicked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marian Hawke's life has been just one chaotic event after another. She will do anything she can to keep the people she cares about close to her, even if it means traveling to the dreaded Tevinter Imperium. With the power of sarcasm, a big heart, and angsty ex-Tevinter slaves, the Champion of Kirkwall will take the world of Thedas by storm in a tale that doesn't really take itself that seriously*.  </p><p>[Less dramatically: An AU in which Hawke grows up with Fenris (formerly "Leto") in Denerim before eventually making it to Kirkwall and coming face-to-face with him again. Mages, templars, and blood magic, oh my!]</p><p>*It tried not to, anyway. Whoops. </p><p>Most characters and situations belong to Bioware. No copyright infringement intended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One: Laughter Lines | Chapter One: The Walls of Denerim

**Author's Note:**

> I'll make sure to label chapters that may have excessive violence and/or smut for people who just aren't into that.

“I’m gonna catch you!” Marian Hawke squealed as she ran through the Denerim marketplace after her younger brother, Carver. Her long dark hair whipped behind her, and their small mabari pup, Munchkin, chased after them, almost tripping over his paws that were too large for his tiny body.

“Stop it, Marian!” Carver whined as he sprinted past several vendors. “You know I’m not that fast!”

“Then you’d better learn!” Her knobby, ten-year-old legs were much longer than Carver’s, but he _had_ insisted on playing tag.

Carver looked back frantically. He suddenly turned into an alleyway, hoping to be rid of her. She laughed as she chased after him holding her small hand out. Carver let out a small yelp as he tripped over a stick. He cried out, clutching his leg. Marian’s deep blue eyes widened and she flew to his side. She reached for his leg, and much to Carver’s dismay, pulled his grubby hand away from his knee. Munchkin caught up with them and let out a soft whine as he sniffed Carver’s leg.

“Let me see,” she said. Crimson surfaced through the gash on his knee, small beads trickling down his leg. Marian held up her hands to his knee and took a deep breath. 

“No!” Carver pushed her hands away. “You remember what father said. It’s too dangerous to do outside the house.”

“I know what father said!” she retorted. “Mother will be angry if she finds out I let you get hurt.”

Carver grimaced. “It’s my fault, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Just hold still. I’m supposed to be practicing this anyway.” She held her hand up and let a wave of magic flow through her fingers. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on what it would look like for the wound to heal. The magic felt strained, and she opened one eye to peak. Nothing. Concentrating harder, her brows furrowed and she pushed as much magic out as she could muster. Finally, she felt the release of magic on her fingertips, and opened her eyes. The skin on his knee began to knit together, taking the blood with it. Carver’s grimace relaxed as he reached out to touch his healed knee. 

“See?” Marian beamed.

“That was very good,” a man’s voice said behind them. Both children jumped up instantly, and Munchkin let out a low growl. The man was dressed in dark robes. His silver hair was tied back into a tight ponytail, and his wrinkled face was pulled back into a knowing smile.

“Please, sir, it’s my fault my sister did it. I skinned my knee…”

“And your sister knew exactly how to fix it. She has an incredible gift, young man.”

“Please don’t send me to the Circle,” Marian said, her face flushed.

The man laughed. “Send you to the Circle? I’m no Circle Mage, little one. You have nothing to fear from me.”

Marian blinked. “Then you’re an apostate too?”

He laughed again. “No dear. You see, where I come from, mages are revered, not locked away.”

Carver gasped. “Oh! I know where you’re from! Father’s told us about mages like you. You’re from Tevinter!”

“Shhh, not so loud,” the man said with a chuckle. “Yes, I am. I’m just here as a trader.”

“A trader? Like the vendors over there?” Marian piped in.

The man chuckled. “You could say that.” He knelt down to Marian and held her chin in his hand. “Protect your gift, little one. If you ever want to be free from the tyranny of the Southern Chantry, know that you will always be accepted in the Imperium.” He stood up and wandered out of the alleyway.

The man turned around, and looked back in the alley, searching. “Leto?” he called. Marian frowned as she looked back.

Behind a few wooden crates, a small elven boy emerged. _He’s my age_ , Marian frowned. _What is he doing this far away from the Alienage?_ He had stark black hair that hung down his face. He wore a too-large tunic over his tiny frame, and had no shoes. His large green eyes stared back at Marian. 

“Come, Leto,” the mage said behind them. The boy padded silently over to the man, looking back before following the man to the courtyard.

 _He’s a slave._ Marian felt a chill down her spine. She had heard of slaves before, but had never actually seen one. _He’s my age_ , she thought again.

“We should head back,” Carver said. “Mother will be wondering where we are.”

Marian only nodded as she led her brother and Munchkin out of the alleyway and back into the Denerim sun.

* * *

 “Now Bethany, watch what your sister is doing,” Malcolm Hawke said, motioning to Marian’s hand movements. Marian felt the magic vibrate across her palms as she held them over the fireplace. A small ember blazed to life. Marian pulled her hand up, and a small flame licked upward. She pulled her hand away and smiled. Her father’s gold eyes sparkled with pride.

Bethany grimaced and tried to copy her sister’s movements. A small ember emerged and she bit her lip. She tried to raise here hand as Marian did, but the ember snuffed itself out. Bethany let out a huge sigh.

“I’m not good at this, Father!” she said. “What if maybe I’m just not cut out to be a mage?”

He chuckled. “No one gets it the first time, Bethany. Try again. Trust me, you can do it. You have Hawke blood in you, after all.”

“Maybe the Amell blood is stronger,” Bethany muttered under her breath. Their mother, Leandra, walked into the room, Munchkin following at her heels, her arms filled with a basket of fruit. She clicked her tongue and put out a small bowl of dog food on the floor in their small kitchen. Munchkin let out a happy bark and dove into the food.

“Why don’t you go play, Marian?” Leandra said. “I’m sure Carver wants something better to do.”

Marian nodded and jumped to her feet. She swiped a few of the apples from the counter and stuffed them in a small bag before padding to the wood door. She thrust it open, squinting into the sun. Carver was holding a large stick in his hand and beating a tall stump. He had fastened a smaller stick to one end, making it look more like a sword. Holding the large stick with both hands, he gave it a good _thwack_ before pausing to catch his breath.

“Want to do something more fun?” Marian smiled, balancing herself on the balls of her feet and pulling herself up to sit on the short fence.

“I don’t really want to play tag today,” he said. “You know what happened last time.”

“Who’s to say it will happen again?” she laughed. “Now you know to look where you’re going.”

“And get tackled by you? No thanks,” he said with a huff as he swung his stick again.

“You’re right. Hitting an innocent tree stump is far better than finding trouble at the marketplace.” She hopped off of the fence and walked toward the wooden gate.

“Don't come crying to me when you get in trouble!” Carver called, and another _thwack_ echoed through their yard.

Marian bit her lip as she walked through the marketplace. Her mother wouldn’t really approve of her wondering around alone. She walked through the market, avoiding some of the grumpier vendors who didn’t like her near their shops. _I only knocked over a table once,_ she thought. _Only_ _three chickens got loose, anyway._

Several townspeople passed her by, not bothering to give her so much as a glance. An older woman with a grimace passed by, holding a young elven girl’s hand. The girl had short, spiky blonde hair that stuck up everywhere, and in her hand, she held a particularly large cookie. She stared at Marian with her blue eyes before the two disappeared in the crowd again.

Marian reached the end of the town near the _Wonders of Thedas_ shop. At the end of the road, the street was blocked off - as it had always been – for the construction of a bridge. When she was sure no one was looking, she climbed through a gap in the boards and found herself in her familiar hiding place. It used to be an alleyway before they started construction. Now it was the home to several stray cats, a few mice, and lately, Marian. There were several extra boards lying around that she turned into a small hut, after snagging several nails and a hammer from her father when he wasn’t looking. 

She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw she was not alone. The small elven boy she’d seen with the Tevinter mage sat there, staring at her. His eyes were wide and he looked… like he was afraid of her.

“Hello,” Marian said, her voice cracking.

“Hi,” the boy said softly. He stood up, his eyes downcast. “Please don’t tell him I’m here.” His voice sounded dry, and his fingers were clutched together against him.

“I won’t,” Marian smiled. She stuck out her hand. “My name is Marian. You’re Leto, right?”

The boy stared at her hand and nodded.

“You’re supposed to shake it,” she laughed, hand still outstretched. Leto blinked and shook her hand quickly before retracting it and pulling himself back into the open hut.  

Marian pulled herself beside him and reached into her bag, pulling out the apples. She handed one to Leto. “Here! I brought another for my brother but he decided to be a dimwit and stay back at our house.”

He stared hungrily at the apple before taking it carefully into his slender hands. “Thank you,” he said, biting into the apple. He chewed slowly, not saying a single word.

Marian frowned and bit into her own apple. “So. Are you from Tevinter, too?”

He nodded as he chewed.

“I’ve never been there. We've always lived in Ferelden. We travel around a lot, though. This is my first time living in the city.”

Leto said nothing as he took another bite into the apple.

“Did you like Tevinter?” she asked.

He simply shrugged as he tucked the apple away into a pocket in his leggings.

She bit her lip. “Not that hungry, I take it?”

He looked back at her and pressed his lips together. “No. I ate last night.”

Marian blinked. “Oh.” She bit her lip, unsure of what to say. They sat in silence, listening to the bustle of Denerim. “So, what do you do for fun?”

Leto shrugged. Suddenly, Marian stood up and hurried out of the hut. “I know! We can play Mages and Templars. I’ll be the Mage, and you can be the Templar.”

Leto looked up at her. “How do you play?”

Marian grinned. “So, we assign safe places for the Mages (that’s me), and then we start from one end of the alley and you try to catch me. If you catch me, I have to go to the Circle. If we have more players, they can either be on the Mages’ side or the Templars’ side, and they can bust Mages out of the Circle, or help the Templars. It’s… usually better with more people.”

Leto stood up. “Okay. Where do we start?”

***

Every Friday, Marian would meet Leto at the hut and she would bring him food. He never ate much of it, but kept it in his pocket. She wondered if he had family with him. _Perhaps he shares it with them._ They would play in the small alleyway, giggling until the sun began to set. Eventually one week, she decided to bring Bethany and Carver with her.  

When they emerged in the alley, Leto stiffened as though he were afraid again.

“Leto, this is my brother, Carver, and my sister, Bethany. I thought we could finally play a full game of Mages and Templars.”

“Marian, you know how father hates that game,” Bethany said softly.

“Father isn’t here,” Marian said. "Besides, it's _fun._ "

Leto looked as though he was sinking back into his shell. Marian caught his eyes and smiled warmly. “Don't worry, they don’t bite. Look, Carver will be on your team, right Carver?”

He nodded, staring at the elf. “I’m always a Templar.”

“Don’t let father hear that,” Bethany warned. “He’d have a fit.”

“Come on Leto, let’s come up with a plan,” Carver said with a grin. Leto gave them a small smile before following Carver to the other end of the alley, listening to his strategy.

“Mare,” Bethany said as soon as they were out of earshot. “Leto is a slave. Won’t he get into trouble for being here?”

Marian pressed her lips together. “I don’t know, but I know that his master doesn’t feed him much. There isn’t much I can do except bring him food.”

“But if his master finds us, what’s to say he won’t hurt us for helping him?”

“Don’t worry,” Marian said with a grin. “I’ll protect us.”

“Oi, Marian!” Carver shouted from across the alley. “You better get to the safe zone or it’s off to the Circle for you!”

“Come on!” Marian giggled, pulling Bethany down the alley.

* * *

For several years, Leto and his master stayed in Denerim. Every Friday, Leto managed to finish his duties before his master let him go off on his own. His mother would say that compared to other masters in Tevinter, Magister Verres was much nicer to his slaves. They weren’t given much food, but he would always bring food back from Marian.

His mother always looked at him quizzically one night when he came home with a full loaf of bread in addition to several fruits and vegetables. “You are sure you aren’t stealing this food, young man?” 

“No,” he smiled. “I told you, I have a friend. She brings me food every week from her family’s garden.”

His mother smiled as she cut slices of the bread and handed a slice to Varania. “I hope you are thanking this friend for her kindness.”

“I am, mother,” he said.

“Just, remember Leto,” his mother said slowly. “Don’t get too attached. Once our master’s trade here is done, we will be returning to Tevinter. I don’t know what will happen when we get back, especially with you being almost full-grown.”

Leto’s breath hitched. “I will protect us, mother,” he said solemnly.

She smiled, the skin around her green eyes crinkling as she place one hand on his cheek. “I know.” Sighing she wrapped the rest of the loaf and hid it beneath her cot. “You’re nearly sixteen already. Most mothers don’t get a chance to be with their children for this long.” She hugged him tightly to her, stroking the back of his head. “You don’t know how blessed we are.”

“I know,” he grimaced. He would never let his mother out of his sight. Of that much he was sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to you if you found the hidden cameo appearance <3


	2. Shores of Amaranthine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly fluff but please note the archive warnings - violence is in this chapter.

“Steady… don’t look down!” Marian called as Bethany carefully walked across a wood plank. Bethany brushed her black hair out of her face, biting her lip. She stared forward and put one foot in front of the other. Marian had found a secluded rooftop on a secluded house that looked over the wall and out to the Amaranthine Ocean, and had managed to convince both the twins and Leto to join her.

“Come on Beth!” Carver called.

“Don’t call me that!” Bethany snapped. She was a mere three feet away. Letting out a squeal, she jumped from the plank to the top of the roof. Sighing in relief, she gazed on at the view with the others. It was peaceful, there. There was nothing but sky, sea, and the vast horizon. It was a place where they could ignore the rest of the world. Marian brought Leto there whenever they both wanted to forget that he was a slave and that she was powerless to help him. Here, nothing mattered but what was right in front of them. Leto was happy for this moment while it lasted, and committed the image to memory - a memory he came back to every night before he fell asleep. At times he  wished he could paint so he would never forget this. 

“How exactly did you find this place, Mare?” Carver asked after a while.

“Oh, you know me. I get bored and start wandering until I find trouble. If I’m lucky, I find somewhere more interesting for us to be than the Pearl.”

“The Pearl isn’t too bad,” Leto interjected. "The smell can... grow on you." Silence fell for a moment before they all burst out laughing.

***

When they finally decided to return to the ground, they carefully followed behind one another across the plank and down the ivy that crawled of the walls of the inner city. Bethany and Carver began to bicker relentlessly, and Marian stepped back with Leto.

“I had a nice time today,” he said after several moments of silence.

Bethany and Carver turned the corner. Marian stopped and looked up at him.

“Leto,” she started. His green eyes bore into her own and she held her breath. 

“Oi!” a gruff voice said behind them. They both turned to see several men approaching. They stank of whiskey and the harbor. “Why aren’t you in your alienage, knife-ear?” the same man said. A roar of laughter erupted from the rest of the men as they continued closer. Marian stepped in front of Leto, shielding him.

“Well hello,” the first man said, a softer laugh bubbling from his throat. “You’re a pretty one.”

Marian glared at the man as she attempted to pull her knife from her belt. Leto caught her wrist. “Don’t,” he said softly. “Just let it go.” He pulled her back away from the men.

“Leaving so soon little knife-ear? Afraid your woman will like us better?”

They tried to continue on, but one of the men ran up to them and grabbed Leto by the tips of his ears and hurled him to the ground, laughing as he went.

Marian whipped around and threw the man against the walls of the alley, holding her jagged knife tightly to his jugular. The skin reddened slightly, and the man gritted his teeth.

“Leave us alone or so help me, Maker, I will slit your throat.”

“You crazy bitch,” one of his friends said behind her. He pulled her off of the first man and threw her to the ground. He grabbed her knife and pointed it in her direction before Leto stepped in between them. She quickly got to her feet, hands raised.

“We’re not here to make trouble,” Leto said calmly. He pulled on Marian’s arm and led her out of the alley, his muscles trembling as he heard the men hurling more jeers at them. He held his breath as they continued on. He stopped a few houses away from hers and looked at her.

“What were you thinking?” he snapped.

“They wanted to hurt you,” she said, gritting her teeth. “I couldn’t just stand there and let them.”

“You did not need to risk your life for mine,” he said, crossing his arms. “I am an elven slave.”

Her face softened at his words, and she stared up at him. “You really believe that your life is worth less than mine?”

He said nothing and his eyes flitted to the ground.

“You are a _person_ , Leto.”

He couldn’t look at her as his skin began to warm at her words that lingered in his mind. She took his hand in hers and kissed his cheek. Her lips were soft and cool against his skin.

“Meet me tomorrow,” she said, “in the marketplace.” He nodded simply and she turned her heel to return home.   

***

Leto kicked a small pebble away as he leaned on the wall by the marketplace. His arms were crossed and he was staring at the ground, hoping none of the merchants would approach him. He looked up to see Marian walking towards him, her mouth spread into a huge grin. His breath hitched, and without thinking, his lips curled into a smile. Her unruly dark hair was flowing freely down her back, and her blue eyes sparkled. “Leto!” she said in a lilting voice as she approached. She broke into a jog, and captured his wrist before he could say a word, pulling him along behind her. “We’re going somewhere different today.”

“Where are you taking me, Marian?” he said, laughing as she dragged him through the city.

“Somewhere _fun,_ ” she said, beaming back at him. She pulled him down the road and they whipped around through several other streets until they finally reached the eastern wall of Denerim. There was a small break in the wall, blocked off only by a few planks of wood. Marian pulled one of them off, and proceeded to pull herself into the tunnel. Leto stared at her for several moments, a lump rising in his throat. She turned back and held her hand out.

“Come on!”

“Marian,” he started. “I can’t just _leave_ the city. My master…”

“You’re not leaving,” she said simply. “Trust me.”

He bit his lip before taking her hand slowly. She pulled him into the small tunnel and they crawled for several minutes before emerging from the end of it. Leto blinked as they walked out, bathed in the sunlight, soft earth beneath their feet. He looked out to see the Amaranthine Ocean. The waves licked the small shore, and Hawke led him a few feet away to a space beneath an emerald tree. There was a blanket laid out, and a small satchel overflowing with food.

Marian plopped herself on to the blanket and rested against the tree with her eyes closed. Leto stared, not moving. He was unsure about being here with her, with tensions rising in his master’s home. His mother covered for him every Friday afternoon, and had been successful in convincing Magister Verres that it was good for him to have some free time occasionally. When Leto was younger, his Master was more understanding. _But that’s when he had more slaves._ He grimaced as he looked down at her. Oh, how he wanted to lose himself. Just for one afternoon, at least. She peaked at him with one eye and smirked before grabbing his arm and pulling him down with her.

“Argh,” he said in surprise. She burst out laughing as he glowered at her.

“You’re far too tense for your age. Keep this up and your hair will turn white from worry,” she laughed, flicking his dark locks from his face. His green eyes locked with hers, and her fingers briefly lingered on his temple before she pulled back and rested against the tree. 

She spoke really quickly, her mind spinning. “I just figure that you would want a couple of hours outside of the city’s walls. You’re technically not outside the city or anything, though we could go back if you really think that’s best. I brought fruit from my backyard if you’re hungry but it’s okay if you just want to bring it home or…”

“Marian,” Leto said, cutting her off. She bit her lip and looked at him, and his green eyes pierced through her beneath his dark hair. He lifted his hands and placed them on her cheeks, fingers lingering just below her jawline. His skin was hot against her own, and her breath hitched. Her skin was on fire as he leaned in closely to her. Her heart stuttered as he pressed his soft lips against hers gently. She let herself sink deeply into the kiss, her heart feeling as though it were about to give out.

The smell of salt in the air blended with earth and grass filled her nostrils. Everything was warm as he kissed her, his own breaths becoming shallow as she pressed herself closer to him. They had known each other for so many years, but there was never a part of her that didn’t care about him. He lowered them both to the ground, resting himself on top of her. She felt an ache deep within her as she wrapped her arms around him, not knowing if she could ever be close enough to him. The bell in the courtyard rang as it did every hour, and it echoed even outside of the city’s walls. 

He pulled away quickly, his ears red, and the brush of cold air rushed across her skin, causing her to shiver.

“I need to get home. To my master.” A look guilt shot across his face as he said the words. He stood up to leave and Marian followed. She reached across and took his hand in hers, pulling him back.

“I can help you get out,” she said, her voice soft, “you and your family. Bethany and I have a plan.”

“Marian,” he groaned, his eyes falling to the ground. “It’s not that simple.”

“No, but we will do it. I want you to have your freedom, I-”

“Please,” he said, pulling his hand from hers, no matter how much it broke his heart to remove himself from her side. “I – can’t. Not with everything…” He turned around and started off for the tunnel. Marian grabbed the food and ran after him.

“Leto!” she called, and when he turned around, she held out the food to him.

“Thank you, but…” he started, holding his hands out to reject the satchel.  

“Take it,” Marian ordered. “Even if it’s the least I can do to help.”

“I don’t _need_ your help,” he growled, turning back to the tunnel and disappearing inside. Her hands fell helplessly to her sides.

***

It was Friday again, and he had just nearly finished scrubbing the floors of his master’s room. The sun was still high in the sky, and his heart felt like it was being pulled up his throat as he thought of Marian. He needed to see her today, tell her that he was sorry for how he reacted. He cared about her but he was afraid of what that would mean. He was born a slave, he would die a slave, and that meant that they could never have a future. A lump grew in his throat. He pulled the rags up into his arms and placed them in a small wooden bucket.

“Done already, Leto?” his master said behind him. “Always such the determined worker.”

“Yes, master,” he said slouching down before the Magister.

“Were you hoping to run off with that girl again?” he laughed.

Leto gulped.

“Well?” his master said, folding his arms.

“Yes, master,” Leto said softly.  

“I thought so,” his master said. “I have a new job for your, however. One that will require you to stay by my side every day.”

Leto’s heart dropped.

“It’s a noble job, Leto. You will act as my bodyguard. This will mean no more afternoons off, but when we return to Tevinter, I will free your mother and sister.”

Leto stared at him, his face relaxing. _Free?_ His mother’s body had been breaking down lately, and it was getting harder and harder for her to perform her regular duties. His sister was a mage – and she could be respected, in Tevinter at least. She had a chance for a real life. They both did. Marian’s face filled his mind, but he pushed it back. “I would gladly serve at your side, Master.”

Magister Verres smiled. “I thought as much. I will have Taelan train you.” He waved his hand and Taelan entered the room. The elf who entered had long blond hair that hung to his shoulders. He was lean, like Leto, but was incredibly muscular. He had one scar that stretched down his right eye, and he was wrapped in dark armor and a large sword was strapped to his back. His lips were in a tight line as he led Leto downstairs to the courtyard.

Leto looked up at the sky, the sun warming his face. A part of him wondered if Marian blamed herself for what happened – or if she was even thinking of him. His heart sank, and he picked up a sparring sword and raised it to his opponent.    

***

Marian sat in their usual meeting place, her legs crossed in front of her as she picked at the small patch of grass growing beside her leg. She knew she was pathetic for thinking he would come meet her after all this time, but part of her held on to the hope that he would. She heard the crack of a twig nearby and jumped up.

An orange cat walked through the alley. It glared at her before hopping up onto a wooden crate and flopping in a patch of sunlight. She sighed and sat back down, her heart sinking more each minute she waited.

She knew that it was unlikely to have any sort of future with Leto. But some part of her had hoped – almost too much – that she could change all that. Even if he didn’t care for her the way she cared for him, she still wanted to free him. A cold gust of wind pushed its way through the alley, and she shivered as she stood up and returned home. 

***

“Again!” Taelan barked several months later. Leto let out a growl as he swung his wooden sword again. The blond elf dodged it easily and spun out one of his legs, kicking Leto’s out from under him.

He huffed as he rested his head on the hard dirt. Taelan lent his hand out, but Leto pushed it away as he helped himself up. Taking his stance again, he breathed into the motions of dodging Taelan’s swings before finally spinning and finding himself at his back. He swung hard and knocked his mentor forward several feet.

Taelan quickly stood up and rounded on him, his teeth clenched together. Leto straightened and stared him down. His mentor’s eyes softened, and his face dissolved into a warm smile. Leto's cheeks burned, and Taelan chuckled.

“Better,” he said with a smooth gentleness. “You’re learning quickly.” 

Leto cast his eyes down to his hands, which were still clinging to his sword. He thought of the waves of the Amaranthine, as he often did when the world got a bit too quiet. He placed it with the others on the rack, his fingers lingering on the hilt. Gritting his teeth, he yanked the sword back out and swung it at one of the sparring dummies, letting out a low snarl. He took several more swings before pouring his strength into one last hit, breaking the dummy in half.

His uneven breath stung sharply in his lungs as he dropped the sword to the ground.

"Are you alright?" Taelan murmured, resting his hand on Leto's shoulder. 

Leto turned to him and opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off.

“He’s quite the force of nature,” an unfamiliar masculine voice said behind him. He turned quickly to see Master Verres standing with another man – another Magister by the look of his dark robes. Leto let himself slouch forward, his eyes downcast. 

“Danarius, this is Leto. He’s been training with my other slave, and has been something of a natural.”

“Hm,” Danarius said, his eyes looking over the elf. Leto caught a small glance at him from under his hair, and a shiver ran up his spine. He didn’t like how this man was looking at him. “I’ll give you twenty sovereigns for him.”

Verres let out a sharp breath. “I’m sorry, but he’s not…”

“Thirty sovereigns.”

Magister Verres looked flushed. “Danarius,” he began. The other magister approached Leto and reach out his hand to hold the elf’s jaw. He pulled Leto’s face up and examined it. The elf let out a low growl.

Danarius chuckled. “He’s like a small wolf. Verres, I know your business here hasn’t been going as well as you had hoped. Forty sovereigns?”

Verres sighed. “I can’t refuse such an offer.”

Danarius pulled out his coin purse and threw it to Verres. He then snapped his fingers, and a tall elven man appeared from the shadows.

“Take this one to the cart by the coach with the others. We leave shortly after sundown.”

“Yes, Master,” the elf said, his eyes sad as he reached for Leto. Leto shrank back slightly, but the man guided him through the gate to the front of the mansion.

He stood in front of the cart. It was made of dark wood with a single door and a single barred window. The elven man opened the door.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to Leto.

Leto cast a glance at him. “Can I say goodbye to my family at least?”

The elf looked around cautiously. “Don’t be seen. The Magister is cruel to those who disobey.”

Leto nodded and he slunk off to the bushes that ran alongside the side of the mansion. Sneaking into the slave’s quarters, he grabbed his satchel and shoved the quarter loaf of bread into it. His mother appeared in the doorway.

“Leto,” she gasped. She ran to her son and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tightly. “You shouldn’t be down here. You don’t know what kind of man this Magister is. He could…” she stifled a sob in his chest and he hugged her tightly to him.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” he whispered. Varania appeared in the doorway as well. Her eyes were cold and black as she stared at him.

“We could have had our _freedom_ ,” she hissed.

Their mother turned. “Do not blame him for this,” she said raising one finger to her daughter.

“He could have convinced him. He’s always been our Master’s _favorite_ anyway.”

“ _Varania_ ,” their mother scolded.

“I am sorry,” Leto interjected. “I tried, for what it’s worth.”

Varania rolled her eyes and stalked out of the room. His mother turned back to him, her eyes still filled with tears.

“Just listen to him, please. Keep yourself alive, no matter the cost.”

He nodded to her before planting a soft kiss on her forehead and letting himself out of the quarters.

He swung the satchel around him as he hid himself within the spaces between the bushes. Looking around carefully, he turned and began to climb over the fence. Pulling himself over the top of the fence, he let himself slip several feet down to the ground on the other side.

"Leto," he heard a voice call behind him. He snapped up, moving into a defensive position.

Taelan stood several feet away, his hands raised. "It's just me."

Leto relaxed. "You scared me."

"Are you running?" Taelan said, closing the distance between them.

"No," Leto sighed. "I'm saying goodbye to a friend."

The blond elf frowned. "It's been months since you've seen her."

"She deserves to know."

Taelan crossed his arms, his eyes falling to the ground between them. "I will keep watch for you, then."

"Thank you," Leto said softly. Taelan's eyes lifted to his, and Leto felt a small stab of pain. "I will miss you, you know."

"I know."

Leto gave him a small smile before turning away.

He snuck through the skinny alleyways of the outer part of Denerim. The sun began to set as he approached the back of a small house. He peered through the foliage and saw Marian sitting against a tree, watching the sky as it faded to a soft pink.

Her eyelids lowered in her sleepy haze, her dark lashes drooping further as she fell asleep, her hair falling around her face. He bit his lip. _I shouldn’t be here_ he thought. He had been selfish. She and her family had the chance to be happy. The Templars had stopped searching for them finally, and they were at peace. His heart sank and he pulled himself back, resting against a tree. _I must return_ , he thought, his skin crawling. He knew there was no way he could outrun a man like Danarius. Even Verres had spies crawling through the city. His only hope was to try to earn his freedom. He sighed and turned his heel to return to the mansion.

He appeared from the brush again and the tall elf nodded at him before letting him into the cart and closing the door. It wasn’t until the inside of the cart was completely silent that Leto curled into himself and let out a soft sob in the darkness. 

***

“Marian!”

Leandra shook her daughter awake. Marian groaned softly and rubbed her eye. “Nnnmm… What is it?” she said lazily.

“We must leave _now_. Your father’s Templar friend is here. In the city. They know where we are.” Leandra’s eyes were red. She tossed several bags to Marian and began shoving her things into them.

“Mother,” Marian said, but Leandra didn’t turn around. She stood up and turned her mother to face her.

“They’ll take all three of you,” her mother said with a small cry.

“They won’t take us,” Marian said firmly. Leandra sighed deeply and continued packing. Marian stopped her mother’s hand as she pulled a tunic to the bag. “I can take care of this.”

Leandra nodded and left the room, tears still filling her eyes.

The five of them carefully slipped out of the back entrance of the house, bags strapped to them tightly. Munchkin scouted ahead, making sure the path was clear. As they slipped to the small hole in the eastern wall and out to the small winding road that would eventually snake around the whole of Ferelden, Marian’s heart sank. She turned to face the city that towered above with its familiar stone walls. Denerim had become their home – like Honnleath had been before they came. Her eyes flicked to the skyline that was growing pink with the dawn. _I will probably never see Leto again,_ she thought miserably. She knew deep down that there was no future for them, but part of her refused to accept it. _I will come back for you,_ she vowed silently. She turned and followed her family, readying herself for what was to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my nonsense! More to come :)


	3. Lothering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note archive warnings.

“Feel the storm pass not just through you, but beyond you,” Malcolm Hawke said, waving his staff forward. The sun sprinkled through the forest canopy and down to their small safe haven. Malcolm had spent the last month studying shrouding wards so that they could practice without holding back. Bethany and Marian copied his movements. Marian released a small storm over the training dummy, shocking it several times before it began to burn. She waved her other hand and conjured a frost glyph below it, extinguishing the fire.

Bethany bit her lip and followed the same motions as her sister. A lightning bolt shattered through the canopy overhead and sent the dummy flying.

Marian let out a laugh. “Atta girl, Beth! They’ll be calling you the dummy-slayer in no time.”

Bethany pressed her lips together, fighting a smug grin.

“Excellent,” Malcolm said. “Now, let’s try reigning it in to a small storm. Once you centralize your mana and focus on one area, you can conjure a storm that will follow the target.”

Bethany huffed. “Practice is never done, I see.”

“Not where magic is concerned.” Their father smiled down at her. “But you see? I told you that you had it in you.”

Bethany grinned and swung her staff, breathing deeply and focusing her energy onto a spot just above the fallen dummy. She released the air from her lungs and pulled the magic from deep inside, letting it trickle out only a bit at a time. A cloud rolled above the dummy, and several bolts of lightning hit it, igniting the fire once more. She followed her sister’s example and waved her other hand to conjure the frost glyph.

“Excellent.” Malcolm beamed proudly at his daughters, and his chest filled with warmth. His own father had given him to the Templars at a very early age – almost as if he were ashamed to have a mage for a son. His mother had visited him the Circle occasionally, but after she died, he felt no connection to family whatsoever. Leandra had changed all that.

Walking back to Lothering where they had decidedly made their home three years prior, they stashed their staffs in a hole just at the edge of the forest before carrying on. Templars hadn’t made their way to the town in nearly six months, but it was better to be safe.

“So father,” Bethany said, skipping alongside to him. “Several men in the market were saying that there are rumors of another Blight coming, and King Cailan is joining up with the Grey Wardens to stop them.”

Malcolm stiffened. “Yes, I had heard that too.”

“Do you think there’s any truth to it?” Marian said.

He pressed his lips together. “I could not say. I would have to see the Darkspawn horde for myself, but I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that.”

“And if the Blight comes to Lothering?” Marian said in almost a whisper.

“Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that,” Malcolm replied.

They made their way to the small bridge that crossed into the town, falling into silence. There hadn’t been a Blight in so long – Marian clenched her hands together. She didn’t want to leave yet another home. Not to some darkspawn horde hell-bent on destroying the world.

“Well if it isn’t Malcolm Hawke,” a gruff voice said behind them. Malcolm whirled around and pushed his daughters behind him. Three templars stood before them, clad in their heavy silver armor with red trim. One of the templars had taken off his helmet and was grinning smugly at Malcolm. He had dark brown hair that was brushed back, and several scars gracing the skin on his face.  

“I warn you, stay back,” Malcolm said darkly.

“The Circle has been looking for you for many years,” the templar growled. “They wouldn’t like knowing that we let you go. Not after what happened to the knight commander.”

Malcolm took a step back, pushing Marian and Bethany along. “Run,” he murmured to them.

Marian shook her head, “You need us.”

“Do _not_ argue with me now. Go,” he snapped.

Bethany pulled her back and Marian reluctantly walked, not taking her eyes off of them.

“Don’t want your children seeing how much of a coward you are?” the templar laughed.

Malcolm straightened, carefully conjuring fire. The templar reached for him and he hit him in the face with the fire ball, and turned to run. The other templars pulled him back and shoved him to the ground.

“No!” Marian shouted, bolting back towards them. Bethany made a grab for her.

“Marian, stop!” she called.

Marian rushed over and pulled her father to his feet, dragging him back from the templars.

“This doesn’t concern you, girl,” one of the templars spat at her. “This is between us and your apostate father.”

“Come on,” she hissed, pulling Malcolm along as she made her way back to down.

One of the templars pulled out a bow and nocked an arrow, pointing it at them. Bethany stared disbelieving as they ran towards her. Her eyes caught the templar and all the breath from her lungs was gone.

“Marian!” she shouted, pointing.

Marian turned her head just in time for the arrow to sink itself into her father’s chest. He groaned and his body heaved. A second and third arrow found themselves buried in his back and he sank to the ground, the blood covering his shirt. Marian croaked out a small cry as she held her father to her.

The templars turned and walked away from the three mages without another word. _They know it’s fatal_ , Marian thought.

“No, no, no, no,” she whispered, delicately laying her hands over his wounds.

Her father groaned and looked up at her. Bethany fell beside them, tears running down her cheeks.

“Tell me how to help you,” Marian sobbed. “I don’t… I don’t know how to fix this. Just tell me and I can help you.”

Malcolm clutched her hand to his heart. “Tell your mother and Carver that I love them. Tell them that now we are free.”

Her vision blurred with the hot tears that were pooling beneath her eyelids.

“Please, just tell me how to help you.”

“I love you, Marian. And you, Bethany,” he said, looking up at Bethany. His eyes closed, and Bethany’s face went white. Marian broke out into sobs and her sister clutched tightly to her as they wept over their father.

***

Marian looked across the table at her mother, who had finally left her room for the first time in a week. Her eyes had dark circles beneath them, and her eyes were still red. She trembled as she picked up her spoon to eat the soup that Carver had made for them.

Carver sat next to Marian in complete silence, as he had also done since she and Bethany had returned that day.

The silence filled the room like water, and she was drowning in it. Standing up from the table, she pushed the front door open and stepped out into the evening air. Staring up at the sky, she clutched her arms around her chest.

She blamed herself most days for her father’s death. She was a mage – she should have been able to help him. The most she could do was heal simple flesh wounds – his had already reached his heart. Thinking back to all those weeks in Denerim when he had offered to teach her more healing spells, she cursed herself knowing that most times she had refused. She wanted to fight, not be a healer. But if she had fought the templars that day, they would have killed her and Bethany too.

Biting her lip, she sank against the house and let herself dissolve into tears.

***

The four of them raced across the dirt road, fires and darkspawn raging behind them. Carver was trailing close behind Marian, and Bethany was pulling their mother along to keep up.

A genlock leapt down from above them, letting out a low growl that came out as a chuckle. Bethany pulled Leandra behind her and let out a yell before throwing a ball of fire at the darkspawn, throwing him back several feet. Marian shot another fireball at him, and the genlock turned to ash. Three other darkspawn stragglers ran at them, fully armed.

Bethany ignited a flame glyph just beneath them, and Marian conjured a large cloud above their heads that struck them several times. Carver lunged forward and swung at them, knocking them over in one swoop. Another genlock threw itself into the fight, stabbing Carver in the leg. He let out a yell before knocking the creature back and thrusting his sword into its neck, quickly twisting the blade and hobbling back to his family.

“Let me see that,” Marian said as he sat on a rock to rest his leg.

“It’s fine,” he snapped. She grimaced at him and put her hand over his leg, holding him down to keep him from squirming away. The wound closed, and Carver flexed his leg before standing up and turning away from Marian to the path without another word.

“You’re _welcome_ ,” she muttered. Ever since their father died, Carver had been nothing but callous. She knew he blamed her, even if he would never admit it outwardly.

“I think that’s all of them,” Carver said.

“For the moment,” Bethany replied.

“Maker save us,” Leandra sighed. “We’ve lost it all. Everything your father and I built...”

“At least we’re alive,” Marian said with an uneasy chuckle. “That’s no small feat.”

“Yes… I suppose you’re right.”

“We should have run sooner,” Bethany said, her brows furrowing as she turned to Carver. “Why did we wait so long?”

“Why are you looking at me?” Carver spat back. “I’ve been running since Ostagar.”

 Several darkspawn growled from beyond the flames. “Not to interrupt,” Marian said, “Not to interrupt, but the Blight’s not going to wait while we stand here pointing fingers.”

“Please,” Leandra said. “Listen to your sister.”

“Let’s go then,” Carver said, his gruff voice masking his spite.

They turned and ran up the hill, weapons ready as they reached the top. The darkspawn had taken to two weary travelers, and they were sorely outnumbered. 

“Get ready,” Marian hissed to them.

Pulling from within she forced out several fireballs. Several of the darkspawn went down and she pulled them closer, allowing for Bethany to strike them with bolts of lighting. Carver swung at a few of the darkspawn scouts, knocking them over the cliffside.

The male traveler was struck suddenly and thrown against the ground. His female companion lunged at the darkspawn with a war cry. “You will _not_ have him,” she said through gritted teeth. Her fists rained down upon the face of an unlucky Hurlock before she grabbed her sword and cut it through his neck. Hoisting herself up and grabbing her shield, she fell back to the man. Pulling him back up, she gripped him tightly to her as he struggled to walk.

“They will _not_ have you,” she smiled at him. “Not while I breathe.” He gave her an unconvincing ghost of a smile.

Marian blasted a straggler off the side of the cliff, and they approached the couple, staves still in hand.

“Stop squirming, Wesley, you’ll make it worse,” the woman said.

Wesley shot a look at them as they approached with a critical eye, his gaze landing on Marian’s staff.

“Apostate,” he said with a growl. “Keep your distance.”

Bethany let out a small laugh. “Well the Maker has a sense of humor. Darkspawn and a Templar? Our day just got _rich._ ”

Wesley approached them, pulling his hand to the hilt of his sword. “The spawn are clear in their intent, but a mage is always unknown. The order dictates…” he clutched his side as he bent forward, trying not to cry out in pain. He lifted himself and continued. “The order dictates…”

Marian stepped in between her sister and the wounded Templar.

“Dear, they _saved_ us,” the woman said. “The Maker understands.”

He glared at Marian and his face softened. “Of course.”

“I’m Aveline Vallen,” the woman said. “This is my husband, Ser Wesley. We can hate each other when we’re away from the hoard.”

“Agreed.”

“For now, we move with you,” Aveline said. “North is cut off. We barely escaped the main body of the hoard.”

“Then we’re trapped?” Carver said. “We can’t very well go south, the Wilds are there. We’d never escape the hoard.”

“If the choices are south or die, I’ll take my chances,” Marian interjected. Carver shot her a glare, but followed close behind.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in some situations I'm probably going to use canon dialogue because it feels more true to the character (so I'm not just being lazy, I promise). However this isn't going to happen too much since it is more of an AU and is going to deviate from the main storyline. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I'm currently editing the next chapter so it should be up soon!


	4. Bloodlines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the archive warnings (mostly the character death one).

“No, no, this is all wrong.” Danarius stood before a large table, his arms folded as his apprentice attempted to do a spell. “You need not focus on the spell itself, but the movement of the blood. Feel how it moves and its energy.” The apprentice held a goblet in his hand and closed his eyes, pulling the blood upward.

The study was lit only with candles, and the curtains were drawn. Dusty books were piled high on either side of the room, and various potted plants were hung from the ceiling, their leaves drooping down below.

“Very good,” Danarius said. “Now, the connection that you felt with the blood – the energy that came from it – that is what you must search for when you pull the blood from yourself or another. It is not enough to have help from spirits. You must learn to control it if you are to use it properly. Here, I will show you,” he turned around. “Fenris, my little wolf, come here.”

Leto snarled quietly in his dark corner on the other side of the room. He _hated_ it when he called him that. He stepped into the light, slouching as he walked. He held out an arm for Danarius, bracing himself for the pain.

Danarius took his dagger and sliced Leto’s hand. Leto stifled a cry and closed his eyes as the pain stretched through his hand.

He willed himself to think of sitting in the afternoon sun by the waters of Amaranthine; the place he often thought of when it was too much to live in reality. His thoughts turned to Marian – her soft hands that held his own and her contagious laugh that bubbled through the air like a song, her blue eyes that deepened as she gazed at him. He glowered as he pushed the thought away. There was no use dwelling in the past. That part of his life was dead the moment Danarius purchased him.

The magister pulled the blood from the elf’s hand and looked as though he were taking the energy into himself, the blood hovering around him. He flicked his fingers softly toward the fireplace, and a sharp blast emerged from his fingers and ignited a large fire. He raised his hands and ushered the flames lower and lower until they were mere embers.

“The key, you see, is to be entirely in control. The push and pull of the life energy is tedious, but useful to augment your spells if you can control it. Try again.”

His apprentice nodded and stared down at the goblet. He breathed in and raised the blood from the cup, taking it into himself as Danarius did. He let out a small cry as the blood hovered around him.

“Very good,” Danarius said with a proud grin. “Tomorrow I want you to be able to use three simple spells using blood magic. The separation from the Fade will make it hard, but if you concentrate you will be able to do it.”

“Yes, master,” the man said before leaving the study.

Leto still stood with his arm outstretched.   

“Put your hand down now, Fenris,” Danarius said as he sat in his armchair beside his desk. Leto complied, grimacing. “Bring me wine.”

Leto bowed and pulled up a bottle of wine from the cupboard. Carefully opening it in front of his master, as per the custom, he poured it carefully in the goblet – all the while picturing what it would be like to successfully poison the magister.

“Fenris,” his master said as he set the bottle down. “There is to be a competition in a month, at the Proving Grounds. The winner will receive a boon – markings made of _pure lyrium_.”

Leto’s face hardened.

“It would be beneficial to have a slave with those markings, especially since they are incredibly valuable, so I have registered you for the tournament. But I have decided that if you win,” Danarius said, circling his finger around the rim of the goblet. “I will arrange for your mother and sister to be free. How does that sound?”

The elf’s mouth dropped open. Danarius laughed. “I figured that would be your response. I will have a trainer come in to make sure your fighting skills are up to par.”

Leto nodded and gave a small bow before walking back to the dark corner. A small part of him was bursting with happiness. If there was anything he wanted to do more than poison his master, it was to set his family free. He smiled to himself. He _would_ win the tournament.   

***

They finally made it into a clearing several miles south. Marian bit her lip and looked around. The area was far too quiet, and she gripped her staff tightly. The ground began to shake beneath her, and a large ogre came into view.

She twirled her staff and threw several balls of fire and lightning in its direction, managing to weaken it. Looking over, she saw Bethany give out a war cry and run at the beast.

“Bethany, no!” she shouted, running after her sister. “Stop!”

“I’ll handle this,” she called out, casting a storm spell over the ogre.

She misfired.

The ogre grabbed her with his giant hand and squeezed. Marian felt her vision blur. She could feel herself casting spells, trying to get her sister out of the monster’s grip, but it wouldn’t drop her. 

She cried out and pulled two of her knives from her baldric and leapt onto the ogre’s back, sinking her blades into its neck. It roared, and she slit its throat before it finally collapsed to the ground. Marian scrambled to Bethany and pulled her close.

“Mare,” Bethany croaked. “Mare, it hurts.”

“Just hang tight, Beth,” Marian held her hands over the wounds. They were numerous, and deep.

“Don’t… call me Beth,” her sister whispered with a smile. Marian pushed her spells harder, and she could feel the energy draining her.

“Don’t you dare leave me,” Marian said, gritting her teeth.

The wounds were too deep.

“I’ll say hello to father for you,” Bethany smiled.

Marian clutched her sister tightly. “No,” she whispered. “It’s not your time yet.”

“I’ll be alright,” Bethany said, holding her sister’s hand. Tears filled Marian’s eyes and she pushed her energy harder, trying to keep her sister from slipping away.

Bethany’s eyes closed, and suddenly Marian couldn’t feel anything.

No life force.

Marian stood up and stepped back, her limbs quaking. Her lungs felt as though they were filled with rocks, and her stomach sank deep within her. She tried to swallow air, but she couldn’t get enough in. Breathing quickly she looked away from her sister and folded her arms. She could hear her mother crying in the background, but she just closed her eyes.

Her sister was dead.

Her father was dead.

It all crashed down on her at once. _This can’t be real. This isn’t real. She’ll come back. Any minute now._

“I can say a prayer for her,” Wesley said. Leandra nodded, and he began repeating the ancient Andrastian prayer for the deceased.

Marian blocked out the words, her muscles trembling as she knelt to the ground. _I could have saved her. I_ should _have been able to save her._ _It’s what happened with Father all over again._ Maker _why can’t I just be good at healing spells?_ She threw her staff away from her, her hands shaking.

Carver picked up her staff and placed it back in her hands. He pulled her into an embrace, and she sank her face into his shoulder. He smelled of Lothering. Of home. She sighed deeply and lifted herself away, turning back to the clearing.

Her heart stopped.

Several darkspawn ran at them from across the clearing. She picked up her staff, but she knew she had no energy left. She stumbled before them, tired and weary. The sky above was darkened from the smoke that poured over them from the south. Pushing her grief back in her head, she spun her staff and took her stance as the horde approached.

“There’s too many of them!” Carver called to her.

“Then we go down fighting,” Marian said.

A loud screech came from overhead, and a large dragon swooped down, setting the darkspawn on fire. Its mighty wings pulled the air around it into a gust of wind that threw several of the Hurlocks over the cliffs. Its tail swung around, knocking back the stragglers. It shot fire at the rest of the darkspawn, turning them to ash. The dragon turned to face them. Marian pulled her staff up and held it cautiously as the beast approached. A large burst of magic spun around it, and the beast morphed into a woman. She straightened as she continued to walk. She was older, with white hair that was pulled back to look almost like horns. Her lavender robes and silver gauntlets made it as though she had dressed to look like herself in dragon form. She was dragging a Hurlock beside her, letting it burn and bleed out until she dropped it.

“Well, well. What have we here?” 

***

Leto stepped into the courtyard, the heat from the summer day pressing against his skin. A woman stood before him, clad in full silver armor, and armed with a single greatsword. She pulled another greatsword off the rack and handed it to him.

The elf gripped the hilt tightly and gave it a wide swing.

“My name is Murcia. I shall be in charge of preparing you for the competition. If you kill or injure me in any way, you and the rest of the slaves of your household will be put to death. Are we clear?”

Leto nodded, a lump finding itself in his throat.

“Very good. Let us begin.” She lifted her sword. “When you are in the arena, you must always be wary of your surroundings while also keeping yourself grounded. Firmly plant your feet on the ground like this, and focus your center of gravity here.” She motioned to her abdomen and proceeded to take her stance, and he followed her lead. “Now, remember that this is not simply a competition to see who is the last to survive, but also who can stay quick on their feet and avoid injury. If you fall, even if you remain alive, you will lose. So you must be able to move swiftly and carefully through the crowd of people all trying to kill you at once. Follow my lead.”

Keeping her feet close to the ground, she swung at the training dummies, her movements more like a dance than fighting.

“Grace and a greatsword,” Leto laughed. “Who would have thought?”

Murcia echoed his laugh as she spun around and cut the head off the dummy with an almost lithe swing. There was grace, yes, but also strength and precision. Leto felt chills running down his spine. She turned to face him and sauntered back to his side. “You try, just as I did.”

He bit his lip and copied the movements to the best of his ability. His mind focused on his center of gravity as he moved slowly, readying himself to attack the dummy.

“Keep your feet _grounded_ , Fenris,” she barked as he moved. The name struck a chord in him, and he pulled all of his weight into the swing. The sword connected with the dummy and it went flying across the courtyard.

His breath was heavy and uneven as he stared at the dummy. He turned back to Murcia. Her eyes were lit up, and her mouth was curled back into a smile.

“You’re going to win,” she said softly. “But your form was all wrong. Your feet should be close to the ground at all times.” 

Leto sighed and lifted his sword, ready to try again.

***

The group stared at the dragon lady, their eyes wide.

“It used to be that we never go visitors in the Wilds. But now it seems they come in hordes.”

“What are you?” Marian asked, resting against her staff.

“What I am is of no consequence to you, I’m sure.”

“How did you turn into a dragon, then?”

“Perhaps,” the woman smiled, “I am a dragon. If so, count yourself lucky. The smell of burning darkspawn does nothing for the appetite. If you wish to flee the darkspawn, you should know that you are heading in the wrong direction.” She turned and began to walk away from them.

“So that’s it then?” Carver said. “You’re just going to leave us here? To die?”

“Why not?” the woman replied. “I was merely curious. A mighty ogre vanquished! But now my curiosity is sated, and you’re safe. Is that not enough?”

Marian straightened. “There’s no way we’re going to make it out of this alone. Is there no way you can help us?”

“The horde has spread across the land, and soon will be everywhere. Where is it you plan to run to?”  

“We’re going to Kirkwall,” Carver chimed in. “In the Free Marches.”

“That is quite the voyage,” the woman said. “So far to flee the Darkspawn.”

“Have you got any better suggestions?” Marian said with a crooked smile. “I hear the Deep Roads are vacant now.”

The woman let out a laugh. “Oh, you I like.”

Carver glared at her and she shrugged. _If humor were a weapon, the Blight would be over already,_ she thought.  

“Hurtled into the chaos you fight… and the world will shake before you.” The woman turned away from them and held her fingers to her chin thoughtfully. “Is it fate or chance? I can never decide.”

Turning back, she straightened and smiled at the group. “It appears fortune smiles on us both today. I may be able to help you yet.”

Marian eyed her. “There must be a catch.”

The woman laughed again. “Oh, there is always a catch. Life is a catch! I suggest you _catch_ it while you can.”

“Sister,” Carver pulled her back, his voice low. “Can we trust her? We don’t even know who or what she is.”

“I know what she is,” Aveline said from behind them. “The Witch of the Wilds.”

“Some call me that,” the witch said. “Some call me Flemeth, Asha’bellanar, or even ‘the old hag who talks too much.’ But does it matter? I offer you this: passage safely past the horde in exchange for a delivery to a place near Kirkwall. Would you do this for a ‘Witch of the Wilds?’”

“Roast a few more darkspawn and I’ll do anything you want,” Marian said.

“Sadly, my charity is at an end. There is a Dalish clan in the mountains near Kirkwall. Ask for Keeper Marethari, and deliver this amulet to them.” Flemeth handed Marian a small amulet. “Do as she asks with it, and your debt will be paid in full.” Marian turned it over in her hand. A deep purple stone pendant was clinging to the end of an intricate gold chain. She shuddered at the touch. There was something inside – something almost unnatural. She shivered and stuffed the pendant in her pocket.

“Done,” she said, much to the dismay of her companions.

“However, before we leave, there is another matter.” Her eyes shifted to Aveline and Wesley.

Aveline stood up and clenched her teeth. “No. You leave him alone.”

“What has been done to him is within his blood already,” Flemeth said.

 _Darkspawn taint._ Marian bit her lip. He was as good as dead already.  

“You’re lying,” Aveline hissed, reaching for her sword.

“She’s right,” Wesley said below her in a hoarse voice. His skin was pale, his eyes bloodshot, and his muscles were shaking. “I can already feel the corruption.”

“There must be something we can do,” Marian said, turning to the witch hopefully.

“The only cure I know of is to become a Grey Warden.”

“But they’re all dead. They died at Ostagar,” Carver said.

“Not all,” the witch said. “But those who remain are well beyond your reach.”

Aveline knelt beside her husband. Her face had lost the prideful air it had carried just moments before. Her lips trembled as she looked upon her husband’s face. He was already gone from the world. Too far from her reach, to matter how hard she closed her arms around him.    

“Aveline,” he said.

“No,” she said, “you cannot ask this of me. I won’t do it. I… can’t.”

“You must,” he said. “Please. The corruption is a slow death...”

Aveline closed her eyes. Wesley held his dagger up, and she wrapped her hands around his. She pressed her lips to his forehead, and he helped her position the blade. With a small sob, they sunk the blade together, and he cried out before taking his last breath.

Aveline stood up over him and took a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

The witch nodded, and conjured a spell that transformed her into a dragon again. Marian’s eyes burned. She pushed the memory of her sister to the back of her mind, entertaining the idea of finally letting herself mourn once they reached Kirkwall. Until then, she needed to carry herself high. Blinking up at the sky, her nose burned as she took in the harsh Ferelden air, laden with the stench of darkspawn and the burning hillsides.

Flemeth flew overhead as they trudged along to the docks of Gwaren, their hearts dragging behind them as they carried on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter until the main story begins! Sort of. Thanks so much for reading this depressing mess! I'll see if I can't make it a little more lighthearted, since I definitely adore sarcastic Hawke. We'll see how that goes, though. 
> 
> Thanks Bioware for making your characters have horrendously sad backstories (most of the time. Inquisition doesn't have that for the Inquisitor - just all the poor companions. Sometimes I wonder if the writers ever got bored and decided to have a competition as to who could write the most depressing backstory. Pretty sure Krem and Solas win.)


	5. Lyrium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See archive warnings - lots of gore in this chapter. It starts right after the Archon sits, and ends when he is carried away. (It's also marked by asterisks). 
> 
> Translations:  
> Altus: Tevinter Upper Class  
> Laetans: Tevinter Middle Class  
> Soporati: Tevinter Lower Class  
> Archon: Mage-Ruler of the Imperium

The Proving Grounds were massive. The walls towered overhead, with statues of past archons erected around the stadium. Thousands of people had already begun to gather in the seats, the low rumble of voices echoing across the walls and into the open sky above. Leto could barely hear the voices around him, and his nose wrinkled at the stench of horse, sweat, and blood.

Murcia was standing before him, sharpening his new greatsword. He folded his arms and looked back out at the stadium through the small window from his training room. His trainer pulled up the greatsword and gave it a swing before placing it in his hands.

“Test it here. You won’t want to make any mistakes on the field.”

He nodded and gave the sword a few rough swings, testing the balance. Murcia lifted her own sword and faced him, taking her stance. Her stone hard face was framed by her pitch black hair. Her deep brown eyes were that of a warrior’s, and her pink mouth was pressed into a thin line.

Taking his stance, he thought of his mother and his sister, the starvation they endured, the hell they’d been through – what winning this competition would mean for them. Rolling his head, he raised his sword.     

The crash of their weapons echoed against the barren walls of the small room. He followed the steps she had taught him, until finally she swung her weapon around and he sidestepped away, positioning himself and his sword at her side. Her eyes widened and he stopped mid-swing, and he pulled back. Her face relaxed, and she gave him an uneasy smile.

“You truly are ready. I wasn’t holding back that time,” she sheathed her blade and pulled out a large case from below the table. “Now you must look the part.”

Several slaves who had been waiting in the shadows emerged and begin to strap the armor over him. They clamped the metal against his skin, covering him from his neck to his feet. One slave began to pull a large metal boot out, and he back up. “No.”

“Fenris,” Murcia said with a laugh. “You’re not some Dalish savage. Wear the boots.” 

He bit his lip and raised his foot. The slave began to pull the boot up his leg.

“Wait,” she said, holding her hand up. “I suppose you are right. You have been training without shoes.”

The slave grimaced with her downcast face and pulled the boot away, putting it back in the case. A knock came at the door, signaling that it was almost time.

Murcia approached Leto and tightened the straps around his abdomen. “Between you and me,” she said, her voice just a whisper, “I gave you far better training than most of the slaves out there. Even if you don’t win your family’s freedom, you should at least win your own.”

Leto’s eyes widened.

“I know,” she smiled. “That’s treasonous to say. So don’t tell anyone I said it, and go out there and win.” She clapped him softly on the back and led him out of the room.

***

Leto stepped out of the room, and two guards quickly grabbed him and his sword and began shuffling him down the long corridor away from Murcia. Flames from the torches flicked upward as they hurried past the stone walls.

The guards shoved him toward a large set of doors that were engraved with intricate patterns that twisted up the wood. One guard opened up the door and they stepped through. The walls stretched up overhead, statues of former champions lining them. The room held nearly a hundred people; slaves and their masters, champions and their trainers. Leto turned his head to glance at the champions as he was dragged down the aisles. Most champions looked like _Soporati_ , the lower-class citizens.

He passed a large man with long brown hair who was collared at the neck. His large face was angular, and his eyes were almost black. He sneered at the elf, and it took Leto only a minute to realize that the man had nubs on the top of his head. _He’s a Qunari. They shaved down his horns._ He shivered and turned away quickly.

The guards pulled him down to a bench near the Proving Grounds entrance. A small elf was seated beside him. She looked young, but she was armored to the teeth and was fidgeting with two small daggers. The elf had long red hair that hung in strings alongside her face. She looked like she was about to cry.

Leto forced a smile as he leaned forward. “Daggers, hm?”

The girl jumped. “Yes. I’m small, but I’m fast enough for this competition.”

“Tell me, how old are you?”

“Fourteen,” the girl said confidently. “Nearly grown up.” The guards that were stationed a few paces in front of them chuckled.

Leto scowled at them. _She’s just a child,_ he thought. _Too young for something like this._ “What’s your name?”

“Tallis,” she said. “Who are you?”

“Leto,” he replied. “Though my master has taken to calling me Fenris.”

“That’s a strange name,” she said, scrunching her nose.

“It means ‘wolf,’” he said.

“Why would he call you that?”

“Because I growl like one,” he said matter-of-factly.

She let out a giggle. Several champions eyed them and she cleared her throat before straightening.

“So,” she said. “Where are you from? Originally?”

“Minrathous,” he said. “Though I was in Denerim for a time.” The sharp memories puncture through him, and his face fell. He couldn’t think of her. Not now.

“You lost someone, didn’t you?” Tallis said softly. “You don’t have to talk about it. I lost someone, too. My parents sold me a few years to my master.”

Leto looked back at her. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t look at him. “It’s alright.”

The horn blew outside the preparation room, and they all stood up, readying themselves for the fight. The guards pulled all of them towards the large doors. The guards holding Leto released him to walk on his own. Tallis walked beside him, her bubbling laugh a ghost on her face as she began to shake miserably. As they lined up by the door, several mages snuffed out the torches, leaving nothing but the light slipping through the cracks in the door to keep the room lit.

The doors opened ceremoniously, and the crowd beyond it in the stands began to roar with cheers. Dust was kicked up in the air as they all shuffled out of the room and into the arena. The guards left their sides to form a circle around them, and Leto leaned in close to Tallis.

“Stay close,” he said. She nodded, relaxing her face.

There were about fifty champions standing with them when they reached the center of the arena. Archers lined the upper ring in front of the spectators. Leto could see the countless magisters sitting in their seating sections covered by tents. Beyond the magisters and the others of the Altus class sat the _Laetans_ , then the _Soporati_ near the top.

The stadium was deafening. Leto could feel his heart race as he looked around, unsure if he was truly ready for the competition to start.

The Archon sat in a large private section in front of them, boxed in to the section with elaborate fabrics strung up to protect him from the sun, with magisters surrounding him. He stood and raised his hands, quieting the arena.

“Welcome all,” he spoke, his voice traveling across the whole of the Proving Grounds. “This is a truly momentous day. Each of these champions have prepared for this chance to defend the fair name of a noble house – from the citizens of Tevinter to even the smallest of house slaves. They will fight for glory, for honor, and for the great name of Tevinter!” He paused as the crowd cheered. Raising his hands again, he continued, “The last champion standing will not only win the glory and honor deserving of his or her noble house, but also a precious gift! May you all fight well, die well! Let the tournament begin!” The crowd again cheered as the Archon sat.

The captain of the guard that was standing in the front of the circle of guards turned to face them. “The winner of this tournament will be determined by the last person standing. If the Archon commands the fight to be over, you must stop or you will be put to death. Are we clear?”

“Yes sir!” they all shouted.

“Now you will be given one minute to spread out before the tournament starts. Once the horn sounds, you may begin. Fight well!” He spun around and the guards followed him out of the arena. The large doors slammed shut and locked. _No way out._

Everything turned into a flurry. Leto grabbed Tallis and they ran to the side of the arena, where they both took their stance. “Stay beside me,” he said. “I promise I will not betray you.”

“How do you know I won’t stab you in the back?” she laughed.

“Because we need each other to stay alive,” he hissed.

“Fair point.”

The horn sounded. The center of the arena erupted with red.

Several men ran at the two elves, and Leto swung his sword, the blade connecting with another sword. The man sneered and Leto pulled back, thrusting the hilt back with his weight, smashing it in the center of the man’s face, the crack of his nose acting as the only warning before blood ran from his face as he fell back. A second man gave out a war cry and ran at Leto. He swung his blade and sliced through the man’s stomach, his entrails slipping out. Blood spurted from his mouth, and Leto kicked him to the ground.

A woman ran at Leto and jumped on his back, her dagger held high as he stumbled. Bring it down swiftly, she let out a sharp cry as she fell back, a dagger stuck in her back. Trying to get back up, Tallis came up behind her and slit her throat, pulling her second dagger out of the woman’s back.

The elves ran along the sides of the arena. A man lunged at Tallis, and Leto spun back, slicing the backs of the man’s legs. He fell back in agony, clutching the backs of his knees. Tallis jumped over the man and they cut their way through the crowd.

Leto didn’t have time to count the number of people remaining, but he estimated that twenty were still on their feet. They cut through several more, and suddenly Leto turned, only seeing Tallis in the arena. _I cannot fight her,_ he thought, lowering his blade. Her eyes widened, and he furrowed his brows in confusion.   

Something large hit his back, sending him flying to the ground several feet away.

Tallis screamed and sprinted to his side, pulling him up. He readied his sword as he turned to his opponent. It was the Qunari man. He growled and raised his battleax, bringing it down quickly. Leto dodged the blade just barely, and took the chance to swing his own sword, slicing the Qunari’s skin. The man barely even grunted as the blood trickled down his arm. Tallis flanked the man and quickly added slices. Leto swung his sword again, but the man punched him back, knocking him off of his feet again. He gritted his teeth and came at him again, this time avoiding the Qunari’s powerful arms. He sliced at the man’s abdomen, almost missing several times. Tallis came up behind him and jumped on his back, slicing his throat before being thrown back. She went down with a crack, and she wailed in pain. He ran to her side.

“Go,” she wheezed, “I’ll stay down.”

He stared at her.

“Go!” she yelled.

He whirled around to face the man. He swung his sword and their weapons crashed together. Clashing several times, the Qunari made a reach for his head. He ducked and back up several feet before taking his stance again.

The man grunted and came at him, swinging quickly. He barely had time to dodge before the ax connected with his skin and he screamed in pain, the wound burning as he bled on his armor. Through clenched teeth he stood his ground, his vision fogging from the pain.

He was going to lose.

He thought of Amaranthine; the ocean’s shining waters glistening in the summer sun, waves lapping the small beach as the air drifted through the trees overhead… Marian’s eyes sparkling. He felt whoozy standing there in the heat. He stepped back as the man swung at him again and again, holding his ground until he could get at least one decent swing. He would not die without a fight.

The blood dripped down his leg, and he could feel himself tilting forward, weak. The man raised his ax. Leto closed his eyes, ready to accept his fate.

The Qunari let out a scream, and Leto’s eyes snapped open. His ankles were bleeding. He looked down and saw Tallis, playing dead, with a bloody dagger in hand. She winked at him before closing her eyes again. Leto gave one final swing at the man, slicing his throat open. He fell back, his blood staining the sand.

Breathing heavily, Leto stared up at the crowd beneath his damp black hair. The crowd cheered, the noise resounding through his bones. As he straightened, a sharp pain shot through his abdomen. He clutched his wound and grimaced. He could barely hear the Archon addressing him and the people. All he knew was that suddenly there were a flurry of people around him, and he watched the unmoving Tallis still feigning death as he was pulled from the arena.

 The guard beside him gripped Leto’s sword tightly, as if the elf was going to start a rebellion all on his own. Leto smirked. _He’s afraid. He should be._

He was rushed into the Champion’s room, where Danarius was waiting for him, a wretched smile on his face.

“Healers, come here and take care of him. I want him to be prepared for what comes next."

Leto could barely think as he was set on a cot, and various healers surrounded him, chattering excitedly. He closed his eyes and let himself drift to sleep.

***

When Leto opened his eyes finally, he was met with an elven woman’s face. His mother. He sat up, his heart bursting as he wrapped his arms around her.

“My son,” she said, her voice cracking. “You did it. He freed us. Your sister and I…”

He sighed as he clung to her tightly. Finally, he let go, and he looked around the room. They were not alone. Danarius stood several feet away, his hands clasped behind his back.

Leto slid out of the bed and lowered his head. “Thank you, master,” he said.

Danarius smiled. “We’re not finished yet, however. Now it begins.”

Leto frowned. “What begins?”

“Receiving your boon, little wolf,” Danarius laughed, “the lyrium markings. Your mother wanted to make sure you were fine. Now that she knows you are, she is _free_ to _leave._ ” His mother pressed her lips together and gave him a sympathetic glance as she let herself out of the room.

Danarius approached Leto’s cot. “That was very dangerous of you out there, allying with another elven slave. You’re lucky the Archon didn’t stop the competition and have you both executed for potentially starting a rebellion.”

“But I did win in the end,” Leto said.

“Mind your tongue,” Danarius sneered. “But you are right. And now your family is free and you will hold up your end of the bargain. It’s time,” he called out.

Several elves and mages filed into the room. The elves stood him up and began stripping his clothes. When he was completely bare, they began to push him back to a metal table in the center of the room. As they tried to strap him down, he pulled back and jumped off. Several guards grabbed his arms and forced him back on the table.  

“What’s going on?” Leto hissed.

Danarius turned to him from across the room. “I told you. You are receiving your lyrium markings. You may want to try that meditation technique of yours. This will hurt.”

The other elves chained him to the table, giving him a look of pure pity.

Two mages approached the table, holding several containers of a silvery liquid. “Ready?” one of them said to Danarius.

“Begin,” he said.

One mage pulled out a strange mechanism with a sharp needle at the end. Lyrium was injected into the mechanism, and they brought it down to his neck, starting from his chin. As the needle came down to etched the lyrium into a long line across his skin, all he could feel was fire. He screamed, tears welling in his eyes.

***

His mind woke to black fire. Fire stretched above him, around him, burning his core. His brown skin was turning to ash, and he screamed out for someone – anyone. A small hint of light shone from the other side of the darkness. He walked toward it, his bloodied hand outstretched. Through the light, he could see the shadow of a woman. Her hand outstretched to him and brushed his skin. A wave of soothing air brushed along his skin, and the fires behind him subsided. The woman pulled herself through the light. Her blue eyes were – familiar. Almost. She planted a kiss on his forehead, numbing his skin before she disappeared into the light. Everything went black.

“Fenris,” a man called to him from the dark.

He opened his eyes and winced at the light overhead. He sat up and looked at the man. He had gray hair that was pulled back and an unkempt beard. The man smiled.

“I am relieved that you are awake now. Take a look, Fenris,” he said, motioning to his skin.

“Is that my name?” the elf said softly. “Fenris?”

“You don’t remember?” the man said, folding his arms.

Fenris shook his head.

“Yes. Your name is Fenris. I am Danarius, your master.”

"Master?"

"Yes. You are my slave."

Fenris frowned. _A slave?_

“Your markings are complete. The process was brutal, and even your hair changed color when they injected the lyrium,” Danarius said with a chuckle.

Fenris stared at him. “I was injected with lyrium? I am not a mage. Is that not dangerous?”

“It is, but my healers have seen to you and they say you are fine.”

He looked down at his skin. Intricate white lines danced across his skin. He lifted his hand and brushed them. A sharp burn sent his hand flying back as he winced. _Lyrium tattoos. What sort of monster invented these?_

“They will be tender, but you will be fine. Tomorrow you begin your training as my personal guard and we can see what sort of abilities those markings gave you.”

Fenris nodded as his master left him in the room, his skin still feeling as though it were back in the burning room.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is almost finished! I'll put it up soon :)
> 
> Psych Major Side Note (for those of you who don't know) - Fenris lost his episodic (personal) memories but maintains semantic memories (common knowledge), which is common in many cases of retrograde amnesia (not being able to remember events that occur before a specific point in time), so that's why he knows what slavery and lyrium are. Hurray for science!


	6. Part Two: Ship to Wreck | Chapter One: Servitude

The smell of salt and sea gave Marian a headache. Stumbling off of the ship, her mother, brother, and Aveline following close behind, it took all her strength not to heave the rations that now threatened to eject themselves from her throat.

She looked out at the docks of Kirkwall. Looking out at the harbor entrance, she gazed at the statues in astonishment. _They’re statues of slaves_. The shackles around their necks and the way they held their faces made her shiver. She thought of Leto the day she met him, cold and afraid that she would turn him in to his master. Her thoughts darkened, remembering the dream from the night before. A desire demon had come to her in the night, in the shape of Leto. _Or was it a fear demon?_ She could still feel her shaking limbs as she reached for him. He had been in pain - or the demon had made her believe he was in pain. But when she healed the pain that was rippling through him, there had been a sharp crack before she was thrown back. The illusion broke, and she had woken covered in sweat and crying. _Why won't the demons just leave me be?_ Mentally shaking the thoughts away, she looked back at the crowd of Ferelden people, all yelling.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“They’re not letting anyone in the city,” Aveline said.

“What? Why?” Carver exclaimed.

“What are we going to do now?” Leandra said, her voice breaking.

“Come on, there must be someone in charge who can tell us what’s going on,” Marian said, pushing her way through the crowd.   

A guard stood at the front holding a large sword and shield. His helmet was in his hands, his uncovered brown hair damp with sweat. “Nobody goes past this point,” he said monotonously.

She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrow. “Surely there must be someone we can talk to. You can’t possibly keep all of us here forever. We have family here.”

The guard rolled his eyes. “Go talk to the guard at the city gate and see if he can get in touch with your family.”

Marian nodded and the group followed her up the stairs and into a large courtyard. 

Countless refugees flocked throughout the stairs and the courtyard, all of them covered in sallow skin and gaunt cheeks. They were starving as they waited. She grimaced and wandered over to the bottom of the stairs that led to the city gates. The walls of Kirkwall towered over them, the light brown bricks bright in the afternoon sun.

A tall guard had his red hair brushed back, and he looked bored as he stared at a group of men who were yelling at him.

“Let us through you flaming blighter!” the leader said. “We’re not staying in this pit.”

“Then get back on your ship and go back to Ferelden,” the guard said, crossing his arms. “Kirkwall has no more room for refugees.”

“The ship’s gone,” a man beside the leader said. “We paid good coin to get here!”

“You and half of Ferelden,” the guard said, huffing. “There is _nothing_ I can do.”

Marian stepped forward. “Surely there’s extra room for the pretty people,” she said with a small laugh.

“Keeping my neck away from Knight Commander Meredith’s blade is far prettier than any of you. We’ve been letting all of you in for months. There’s no more room.”

Marian folded her arms.

“We have family here,” Carver interjected. “Does that mean nothing?”

“I’ve heard that story far too many times to count. We are preparing ships to take you all back to Ferelden – eventually. For now you must stay here.”

“You know,” Marian said, stepping closer as she looked at him beneath her lashes. “If you find our uncle, Gamlen Amell, you may just have a few less refugees pestering you.” She was shamelessly flirting and the others knew it, but it was the best she could do without starting a fight.  

“Gamlen?” the man said. “I know that name.”

“He’s a nobleman here in the city,” Carver said.

“No,” the guard laughed. “The only Gamlen I know couldn’t rub two coppers together. If I have the time, I could ask…”

“What?” the leader of the group beside them said. “You’re going to let _them_ through? We’ve been here for four days. They just _got_ here!”   

“That’s it! We’re carving out way out of here!” the leader drew his sword and the rest of the men followed.

Marian rolled her eyes and threw several fire glyphs below their feet, the fire exploding before they could step toward the guard. Carver sliced through several of the men, all of them collapsing at his feet. Aveline put herself between two of the men and the city guard, butting their heads with the hilt of her sword before going after the leader.

Marian conjured ice and through it at the man’s heart, freezing him over almost instantly. He fell to the ground in an icy heap, and they all stowed their weapons in relief.

Breathing heavily, the guard approached them. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll send word for Gamlen right away as a token of gratitude.”

***

“It’s been three days,” Aveline huffed as she paced. “Do we even know if he’s here?”

“He has to be,” Carver replied, resting against the wall.

Marian felt woozy as she stood beside her mother. The sun hurt her eyes, and she blinked several times as a man pushed his way through the city gates. He had gray hair and a weasel-like look about him. Leandra stepped forward.

“Gamlen!” she exclaimed, hugging her brother.

“Leandra?” he said with a laugh. “Damn, girl, the years haven’t been kind to you.”

Marian frowned at his insult and approached the strange man.

“I wasn’t expecting all this with the Blight and your husband... dead. I, ah, expected for you to be a Ferelden for life.”

“Oh Gamlen, we came too late. Poor Bethany is dead, Andraste guide her.”

“Oh Maker save me,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Leandra, dear girl, don’t put this all on me. I don’t even know if I can get you in to the city.”

“Would it help if I said you were my favorite uncle?” Marian said.

He laughed. “It surely would make me feel better but that’s about it. I was hoping to grease some palms but the knight-commander has been cracking down. We’re going to need a lot more grease.”

“But what about the estate?” Leandra cried. “Surely father left us something when he died.”

“About the estate,” Gamlen sighed. “I’d been meaning to write you. It’s gone. To settle a debt.”

“Then there’s no hope,” she said.

“There is one thing I can do, however. Though it would require Marian and Carver to work off the debt for a year.”

“A year?” Leandra gasped.

Gamlen shifted uncomfortably.

“So what’s a year?” Marian said. “As long as we get in, I’m happy.”

Gamlen smiled. “Let me introduce you to Athenril.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a filler chapter, I know, but it had to be done. Next up we get to more important things - like everyone's favorite dwarf (well, he's my favorite anyway). :D


	7. Seheron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please note archive warnings for this chapter. 
> 
> PLEASE READ THIS! I am issuing a trigger warning for this specific chapter. There are implications of slight sexual assault and abuse, but it is *very* brief. If this is something that is triggering for you, please skip the part in the beginning that's marked by two larger white gaps.

Fenris stared silently out the attic window that overlooked the streets of Lowtown. The dull burn of his markings faded if he stayed still enough. The sun was high overhead still, and he watched as people hustled through the streets hurrying off to Maker knew where. He would need to wait until sunset to leave his stolen hovel.

Danarius was on his trail – of that much he knew. He didn’t escape Tevinter as seamlessly as he had anticipated. He closed his eyes, remembering it all so vividly.

***

It had been a temperate summer evening, the pink clouds overhead fading to a soft violet as the sun began to set over the ocean. Danarius had dragged him along with him to travel to Seheron to fight the Qunari.

When they finally reached the shore, the horned beings emerged from the shadows beneath the large trees. Following his master off the ship, the battle had begun.

He gave out a war cry, and the lyrium that was etched in his skin glowed brightly as he flung himself at one of the Qunari warriors. Before the warrior could make a grab for him with his large hand, Fenris had reached his hand deep inside the Qunari’s chest, and ripped his heart out. The warrior collapsed, and the elf moved on to the next group of Qunari.

 

The moon had risen high in the sky by the time the battle was over. The Qunari numbers dwindled dramatically, until finally they called for a retreat. The mages around him cheered, victorious at last.

Danarius and several other mages boarded the ship again, leaving behind several companies of mages and soldiers to hold the area.

He had rested on the side of the ship, watching the water lap against the wood. The smell of the salt and the sea filled his nostrils, and he felt at peace at least for the moment. Something about the ocean always calmed him. He could never put his finger on why, but it was a decent enough tool to keep the nightmares at bay.

A dark-haired woman came up and stood beside him. He turned his head and jumped. _Hadriana._

“Fenris,” she said with a smug smile. “I figured I would find you here. Danarius has been asking where you were. I suppose we’ll have to tell him that you were shirking your duties again.”

Fenris lowered his head, his skin prickling with anger. “What can I do for you?” he said in a low voice.

She smiled wickedly. “I can think of several things.” She stepped in front of him and raised her lips to his. He stood very still as she pressed against him, grasping at his sides and sticking her tongue down his throat. She pushed him against the side of the ship. He didn’t look down at her, instead kept his eyes trained to the ocean. Hadriana pulled away and scowled at his lack of participation. She grabbed his neck with her hand and squeezed. He made a choking noise and she smiled wickedly. She let go and smacked him across the face, sneering as he fell back. His skin stung and he kept his head lowered, his cheeks burning red. She knelt down and grabbed a patch of his hair.

“You would do well to be submissive, slave.” She gave his abdomen a good kick, sending him several feet back.  

She left with a huff and he curled against the side of the boat, cursing the hot tears that now welled in his eyes. His eyelids fell heavily and he let himself drift into dreaming.

 

 

When he awoke, he heard screaming. Danarius ran at him, cursing. “Fasta vass, Fenris, get up! The ship is sinking!” He yanked Fenris up by the arm and pulled him into a small boat on the side of the ship. The elf looked out and saw that the ship had been scraped against sharp rocks that jutted out of the sea. They were close to land, but he could tell they were nowhere near Tevinter.

He and another slave rowed the group to shore, the ominous jungle in front of them sending a chill down Fenris’s spine.

They landed finally, and watched as the boat slowly disappeared beneath the waves. He helped Danarius and Hadriana out of the boat and on to the sand. Hadriana glared at him from beneath her dark hair. He shuddered and followed them to the tree line.

“We’ll make camp here,” Danarius said. “I’ll send a message to the others with my sending crystal. We should be rescued within the next few days.”

Hadriana scowled and rested against a tree while Fenris and a few of the other slaves gathered fabric together and several branches from nearby trees to pitch tents for their masters.

When the tents were finally up, Danarius approached him. “Go take the other slaves with you in the forest to find food and a fresh water supply,” he ordered. He shoved several satchels in his hands and a few canteens.  

Fenris nodded in compliance and motioned to the other slaves to follow him. One of them was an elven boy who was nearly fifteen, Festus, and the other was an elven woman who was older with lines on her face, Devera. The two followed him through the trees, and he grimaced as he saw that neither of them were armed, or looked experienced with hunting and gathering.

They had made it several miles inland before they found a body of fresh water. The trees overhead were a dark shade of emerald, and they could barely see any sky past the canopy. The jungle was dark, and the boy shivered behind him. They turned around a tree to find an enormous lake. The lake was vast, and Fenris pulled the canteens from his bag.

“Wait,” Devera said, her voice raspy. “We should test the water before we fill their canteens. My master warned me about poisonous things that could be in the water.”

Fenris grimaced. “Very well.” He lowered his hand, cupping the water in his palm and raising it to his lips. The cool water slid down his dry throat, and he felt a pinch of relief when nothing serious happened.

“What’s that?” Festus said, raising one finger. Fenris followed where he was pointing. A cloud of fog had appeared on the other side of the lake. The elf frowned as he slowly stood.

Several war cries came from the other side of the lake. Fenris’ eyes bulged and he unsheathed his sword. “Run back to the camp. Now.” The two elves nodded and scurried back through the trees.

A group of Qunari stepped out from the fog, all carrying spears. One of the warriors raised his hand over the water, and a stone path rose up through the water. Fenris froze as one of them slowly walked across the path to him. He had long, white hair that was tied back. He wore simple armor made of a scaly material. He stepped in front of Fenris, peering down at the elf’s face.

“Who are you, elf?” the Qunari said in a gruff voice.

“I am Fenris,” he said.

“Your weapon is drawn, but you have no reason to fear… for now. Answer me this: why have you come here?”

 Fenris bit his lip and lowered his sword. He imagined he wouldn’t live long enough if he told them the whole truth. “My master’s ship wrecked. I instructed to search for fresh water.”

“You are a slave,” the Qunari said after a moment.

“Yes.”

The Qunari stared at him, his face unreadable. “You will come with me.” He waved his arm and motioned for Fenris to walk along the stone path in front of him. Fenris sheathed his sword and he moved forward. His master would kill him if he knew what he was doing, but he was more afraid of what would happen if he were to return to him empty-handed.

 

They called themselves the Fog Warriors. They specialized in something that seemed more like alchemy than magic, but they all marveled at his lyrium tattoos. One day they were sitting by the fire and drinking the strange foreign whiskey that burned his throat. He finally decided to tell them how he had received his markings. The Qunari that he met at the lake – Jarvad – stared at him for a while.

“You don’t have to return to your master,” he said. “You could stay.”

Fenris pressed his fingers around his cup and stared at the brown liquid. “I would like that, though I am not sure Danarius will be too happy to release me. It’s my skin he wants, you see. Its power is valuable to him.”

“More valuable than your life,” Jarvad said.

“Yes,” the elf concurred.

The warrior placed a large hand on the elf’s slender shoulder. “We will protect you. We do not forget our own.”

Fenris looked back at the fire that blazed before them, licking the air and sending sparks flying up. “I do not wish for anyone to risk their life for me.”

“We do not wish for one of our own to be tortured for the benefit of a selfish creature,” he said simply.

Fenris smiled. “So, Jarvad. Since I have shared my life story, may I ask what yours is?”

The warrior stiffened. Fenris lowered his face, afraid that he had struck a nerve. He grimaced. The Qunari weren’t known for their emotional confessions of times long passed. He jumped when Jarvad spoke.

“I grew up under the Qun; I was taught to be a mindless warrior who only obeyed orders, not unlike a slave in Tevinter. One day I was tasked to come here and destroy the Fog Warriors for breaking the territory laws. I came with a small company of men, but we were attacked by a dragon. The Fog Warriors came from the trees and defended us. My men died, but I remained. The Fog Warriors took me in – I knew that if I returned to my commanding officer that I would be made an example of for my failure. I stayed, and the Fog Warriors allowed me to redeem myself. I have been with them ever since.”   

“I am sorry about your men,” the elf said.

“It does nothing for us to dwell in the past,” he said simply. “I will protect you, as the Warriors protected me when assassins came after me. Perhaps one day you will do the same for another.”

Fenris’s chest filled, and the corners of his mouth lifted. The canopy above swayed with the soft breeze, and he suddenly felt his first grip at freedom. He wasn’t sure of what his life was like before he received his markings, or if he was even born a slave, but he knew that he no longer wanted to be a part of it. That night he dreamt not of the horrors that lied in the dark rooms in his master’s household, but of the ocean, the jungle trees, the bright being that soothed his pain as he slept all those months ago.

 

When he woke the following morning, he left the small hut that they had made for him and walked silently to the nearby stream, the cool morning air brushing lightly against his skin. The stream trickled along the rocky riverbed, and he knelt down to scoop the water up to his face. Wiping the water away with the back of his hand, he looked up. Danarius stood on the other side of the stream, his eyes filled with fire. Fenris jumped back onto his feet.

“It took me four months to find you,” he snarled, walking closer to the edge of the stream. “It’s time for you to return with me. Your little _vacation_ is over.”

He backed up, crashing back into a large body. Jarvad stepped in front of him, the other Fog Warriors stepping out of the trees behind him.

“He is no longer your slave,” the Qunari said. “Return to your land and never return. I will not warn you again.”

“That _slave_ is rightfully mine,” Danarius jutted a long finger at Fenris. “I paid for him, and his precious markings. I will _not_ have my property stolen from me.”

Jarvad snarled and raised his spear. He raised his hand and a cloud of fog emerged from nowhere, hiding them. Fenris felt a large hand pull him away from the magister, and he ran with them through the trees. He heard Danarius curse behind them and the sound of feet against the earth followed them heavily. He ran as fast as he could away from the sound, his skin burning.

Suddenly the fog disappeared, and they all slowed to a stop. Danarius stood in front of them, his staff raised. Within seconds the magister had thrown several bolts of lighting, sending many of the warriors flying back. Other magisters gathered around them, taking out each warrior one by one before they could even blink, until it was only Jarvad and Fenris that remained.

They all stopped. Jarvad was breathing heavily, staring at the bodies of the warriors that were stacked around him. Fenris looked up at him – it was the first time he could see the man’s emotions written on his face. He was afraid.      

 Fenris turned back to Danarius. The magister smiled. “Do be a good slave and take care of this one for me.” He tossed a greatsword to the elf, and Fenris clutched it cautiously.

Jarvad looked down at him, but still he faced Danarius, his feet grounded. His silver eyes were sad, and Fenris felt his heart begin to break. _I will never be free_ , he thought miserably. _I was a fool to believe that. And he was a fool to suggest that I ever could be._

“Fenris!” Danarius barked. “Now.”

Jarvad gave out a cry and lunged at Danarius. Without thinking, Fenris jolted forward, his blade plunging into the Qunari’s side. The warrior gave out a painful cry, and Fenris realized all at once what he had done. He released the blade and stepped back, his heart racing as tears filled his eyes. Jarvad fell to the ground, and Fenris stared down at his friend. The light left the Qunari’s eyes, and the air felt sharp inside his chest.

“Very good,” Danarius laughed. “You see? He will always be my most faithful servant. Come, Fenris. It would do well to take care of these Fog Warriors once and for all.” The magister ripped the blade from Jarvad and thrust it back into Fenris’s hand. He felt dead inside – empty. The hope he had died with his only friend. The friend he had killed.

Something in him shattered. The markings he bore lit white against his skin, and he crashed into the Fog Warrior’s camp, slicing every Qunari who approached. The sky turned crimson in his anger, the blood of dozens covering every inch of his body.

When there was no one left, he dropped his sword to the blood-stained ground. It was finished.

 

Several days later, he was back in Minrathous. His head was clouded and dark, and his nightmares returned – with new material to send him screaming in the dark of night. Jarvad’s face was scorched into his mind like the tattoos on his skin, burning him every hour of every day.

 

The night he escaped, he’d had the worst of his nightmares. He woke up in a sheen of sweat. Grabbing a cloak and his belongings, he snuck to the armory and slipped on his black armor and snatched his greatsword. He was done with this life, with slavery, with Danarius. Sneaking into his master’s large chambers, he barely made a single noise as he walked to the magister’s closet and pulled out a small bag of coins. Enough for someone’s silence, he presumed.

He whisked out of Danarius’s chambers and to the fall window on the other side of the corridor. He clamored down the walls of his master’s mansion and slid carefully into the bushes outside.

Sneaking down various alley ways, he hurried to the docks. The sun would be coming up soon. He snuck up to one of the ships that had an unmarked flag flying overhead.

“Hey you!” a feminine voice said behind him. He whirled around. A woman with amber skin was standing before him, her hair hidden beneath a blue bandana. She had several piercings, including one just below her bottom lip. She looked him up and down and crossed her arms. “Where do you think you’re going?” he voice was sultry, but it made his skin crawl.

“I-uh…” he stammered.

The woman laughed. “If you wanted passage all you had to do was ask. Ten gold for passage, fifteen gold for keeping quiet about it.”

He gulped as he pulled out the stolen coin purse. Counting out fifteen, he placed the gold in he hands.

She smiled. “Welcome aboard. I would go get below deck, we leave as soon as the sun comes up.”

He nodded and looked out at the ocean. For the moment, he could breathe easy. Biting his lip, he made his way for the stairs, making sure to cover himself with his cloak. Danarius would be after him, he knew, but this time he would not falter. Whatever the horizon brought, he would be ready.

***

Fenris blinked away the memory as he stared out of the attic window, and his eyes caught the face of a woman. She had dark hair and bright, wild eyes. _It’s her_ , he thought, _the woman from my dream._ He threw his cloak on over his armor and made his way for the Hanged Man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I really appreciate all of you!


	8. Life of an Apostate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, so I messed up with chapter order. This chapter is supposed to come AFTER "Seheron". Seriously, it just makes more sense. Sadly I didn't realize that. Anyway, it's fixed now! (Yay!)

The afternoon sun burned on the back of Marian’s neck as she walked through the courtyard of the Merchant’s Guild. A year later, and she still wasn’t used to the intense heat of the Free Marches. She missed the cool breeze of Amaranthine, the thick Ferelden accents, and the smell of the countryside that was a mixture of elfroot and trees. Carver followed close behind her. They approached a heavily bearded dwarf.

“You’re Bartrand, correct?” Hawke said, and the dwarf looked up.

“Depends on who’s asking,” he said gruffly, shuffling papers and handing them to a scout beside him.

She bit her lip as she went to say her first name. When she joined Athenril she had taken up the name Hawke at the smuggling leader’s urging. Marian was “too soft,” she had said. Athenril had made her name big in the underground, and now there were many who even feared the name. “My name is Hawke,” she said finally, the dwarf blinking at her as though his words had fallen on deaf ears. “This is my brother, Carver. We were interested in joining your expedition into the Deep Roads.”

Bartrand spat on the ground. “Yeah, you and every other penniless Lowtown trash. I already have enough hired guards, I don’t need more.”

“But we’ve actually _fought_ Darkspawn,” Hawke interjected. “We’re from Ferelden.”   

“No. Andraste’s tits, woman. You know how many people want to hire on to this expedition?” The dwarf said.

“Surely you’ll need all the help you can…”

“No, you’re too late, already done. This is the sort of venture that could make a man for life. I’m not about to take any chances hiring on random humans.”

“How about I buy you a drink before we head into the Deep Roads?” Hawke said with a small smile. “Everyone wins!”

“Get in line, human,” he scoffed. “Everyone in Kirkwall wants to be my best friend right now. You’re looking for a quick way out of the slums? So is every other refugee. Find another meal ticket.” Bartrand stalked off without another word.

Carver scoffed. “That’s just great, sister. There goes our one chance to get out of Lowtown.”

“We will find something else, Carver.”

“Oh will we? Kind of hard when we’re running from your bloody Templars.”

Hawke’s brows furrowed. “If you’ve got a better plan, I’d love to hear it. Otherwise, stop being an ass.”

“Uncle Gamlen might know someone who could talk him into it…”

“Because Uncle Gamlen is such a charmer that he would know someone who would do that for us,” Hawke scoffed.

Carver scowled and followed her out of the courtyard. Ever since they had arrived in Kirkwall to escape the Blight, Carver had been a foul mood. Hawke wondered if it was due to their father’s death, or the girl Carver had left back in Lothering – or even both. He was mad because the Templars had always been a constant worry with she and Bethany both being apostates, but Hawke wondered if he blamed all mages for the Blight that had destroyed their childhood home. She grimaced at her last memory of Lothering, smoke rising from the distance as they ran through the hills to escape the horde of Darkspawn.

The Blight was over now, or so they heard. The Hero of Ferelden managed to kill the Archdemon. But they were stuck in Kirkwall now with no way out.

Hawke sighed and turned the corner. A pull came from her waist, and she reached for her purse, only to see it in the grip of a redheaded thief running down the alley way.

“Hey!” she shouted, bolting after him. She knew better than to use her magic in the city in broad daylight, but she would if it meant saving this week’s food money, she would do it. A sharp _twang_ came from the other side of the alley, and the thief was flung against the wall with an arrow.

A beardless, redheaded dwarf emerged from the shadows and punched the thief in the face before retrieving both the coin purse and his arrow.

“Missing something?” the dwarf called as he tossed the purse back to Hawke. The two approached the dwarf.

“Nice shot,” Hawke said, motioning to his crossbow.

He smiled. “Bianca never misses.”

“Bianca?”

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” he smiled, holding his crossbow out to her. The crossbow was made from a warm-colored wood and sturdy iron. Hawke gently touched it.

“Excellent craftsmanship,” she noted before stepping back. 

“I apologize for Bartrand,” the dwarf continued. “He couldn’t see an opportunity if it hit him square in the jaw.”

“You know him?”

The dwarf laughed. “He’s my brother. The less attractive one, of course.” Hawke raised a single eyebrow and crossed her arms. “Varric Tethras, at your service. I couldn’t help but notice that you and your brother are interested in joining my brother’s expedition?”

“We were. He made it clear he doesn’t want our help,” Hawke said.  

“You see, what my brother doesn’t realize is that we need someone like you. He would never admit it either,” he said with a chuckle. “He’s far too proud for that. I, however, am quite practical.”

“What makes you so certain? You don’t know anything about us.”

“You served with the Athenril, yes? And not only that, you impressed! You’re nothing short of a celebrity within the city’s underbelly.” 

“You flatter me, but you’re going awfully far out of your way for another hireling,” Hawke smiled.

“But we don’t _need_ another hireling,” Varric continued. “We need a partner. Bartrand’s been pulling his beard out trying to fund the expedition, but to no avail. Fifty sovereigns, and he won’t be able to refuse.”

“Do I look like I’m made out of money?” Hawke said with a laugh. “Plus, if I had that much coin, I wouldn’t need this job.”

“You need to think big! There’s only a brief window after the Blight when the Deep Roads aren’t crawling with darkspawn. The treasure you find down there could set you and your family up for life.”

“We should take his advice, sister,” Carver said quietly.

“What do you say we work together, you and I, and pretty soon we’ll have all the gold you need. Sound like a deal?”

Hawke looked down at the dwarf and nodded. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Perfect,” he said with a grin. “Now let’s go see what trouble we can stir up.”

***

Hawke followed Varric down to the Hanged Man in Lowtown later that day. The dwarf was telling her stories about Bartrand first coming to the surface from Orzammar and how he was terrified that he was going to fall into the sky. Hawke smiled as they walked through the bustling crowd of refugees and Kirkwall citizens. The sun overhead had begun to sink, and she turned back to Carver, who was sulking behind them.

“I think I’ll just go home,” he grumbled. “Mother will be worried if I don’t come home soon.” He stalked off to Gamlen’s house without even so much as a goodbye. Hawke grimaced.

“Is he always so charming?” Varric asked.

“Oh yes. He’s the most charismatic one in the family, right next to Gamlen,” Hawke said. Varric let out a soft chuckle.

“Come on, let me show you the Hanged Man. You look like you could use a drink or two.”

“Or ten,” Hawke said.

The tavern was dimly lit and loud. The air was a mixture of booze, sweat, and stew, with scantily clad women laughing near the bar and hulking guards playing a boisterous game of Wicked Grace. A couple bards played upbeat music in the background that resonated through her ribs. Hawke looked over at one of the tables to see a hooded man staring back at her, his eyes dark with bits of white hair poked out from beneath his hood. She frowned and the man turned his head away, taking a large swig of his mead with a heavily armored hand. _He looks like..._ She felt a light flutter in her stomach and shook the feeling away. No, he was gone. Probably in Tevinter now anyway. She continued to follow Varric through the crowd and up the stairs to a large chamber.

“This is where the magic happens,” he said, lifting his hands. There was a bed in a large nook to the side, with a long, wooden table near the main entrance and various candles lit. “It isn’t much, but it’s home.”

“Wait, you actually _live_ here?”

“Well, if you mean live as in sleep, eat, and occasionally work on novels, then yes.”

“Doesn’t it get noisy?” Hawke sat in one of the wooden chairs.

“Oh yes, but I rather enjoy the bustle of tavern life. It makes for great entertainment, and inspiration for good stories. Now, for the real reason I brought you here.”

Hawke looked up at him warily.

“Bartrand is in need of finding an entrance to the Deep Roads before we even start the expedition. I heard a rumor that there is a Grey Warden living in Darktown with maps of the Deep Roads.”

“And I take it getting these maps will earn us more favor with your brother?”

“In addition to actually launching the expedition, yes,” Varric said. “His name is Anders. I’ve heard he’s… wary about visitors. So maybe it should just be you and me when we visit. Carver might scare him off.”

“Carver? Scare someone away? Perish the thought!”

Varric let out a laugh. A barmaid came up the stairs with two pints of mead in her hands. She set the glasses in front of them without a word. Varric slipped her a few coins before she scurried out.

“To my new business partner!” he said, holding up his glass. Hawke smiled as she raised her own glass to his, and took a swig of the honeyed liquid. She winced at the taste, and Varric let out a laugh. “Don’t drink much?”

“Not really, no,” she said, the liquid burning down her throat.

“How old are you, anyway?”

“Nineteen,” she said.

“That’s pretty young to be working for a smuggling company.”

Hawke set her glass down. “I’m not anymore, but we didn’t have much choice. When my family arrived here, they weren’t letting anyone in the city. My uncle, Gamlen, lives here but it wasn’t enough, especially after he had gambled away his life savings. It was either both my siblings and I worked for a year to pay for our way into the city, or we would have to go back to Ferelden. Let me tell you, Athenril and her men were far more hospitable than Darkspawn.”

Varric chuckled. “I can imagine. Still, hard life for a kid.”

“Could be better. Could be worse!”

“Isn’t that the truth.” He took a large swig of his wine. “What do you say we finish these and go find the warden? It might be dangerous at night but we’ll attract less attention.”

Hawke nodded and took another searing swig of the mead.

***

By the time they made it to the small nook at the edge of Darktown, the moon was already rising. They reached a pair of flimsy wooden doors, a lantern lit just beside them. Hawke bit her lip.

“You said he’s a healer?” she whispered to Varric. He nodded. She lifted her hand up to the door and knocked. The door creaked open, and she stepped into a large room filled with various cots and shelves covered in potions and books. A blond man in a robe stood over a table, tending to a small boy who looked severely ill. A woman – his mother, Hawke thought – was knelt beside the boy, clutching his hand tightly. The boy took a large gulp of air and sat up. His mother cried out with joy and hugged her son. The blond man nearly keeled over and stumbled to a pillar to catch his balance. He took a swig of a blue liquid and breathed deeply. His assistant, a dark-haired young man also dressed in a robe, looked over at Hawke and Varric. He whispered into the blond man’s ear. The man whipped around, staff in hand. His eyes were a piercing shade of gold beneath thick brows and a mess of blond hair that was tied back. He tightened his angular jaw and crossed the room towards them.

“Why have you come? I have made this place a safe haven for the sick and wounded!”

Hawke raised her hands in front of her. “I’m not here to hurt you. I just came to talk. Are you the Grey Warden?”

“I am, but if you came to take me back, your journey has been wasted. I won’t be returning to the Wardens, they made me get rid of my cat.”

She laughed. “I’m flattered you would think of me as a Warden, but no. I came to ask if you had maps to the Deep Roads. We’re planning an expedition.”

“Why would you want to go to the blighted Deep Roads? Nothing but death and Darkspawn.”

“And cats, apparently?” Varric mumbled.

“I could owe you a favor,” Hawke interjected. “A favor for the maps?”

“A favor?” Anders said. His eyes drifted away as he began to get lost in thought.

“Though I should warn you, I don’t do anything involving children or animals.”

Varric smirked.

Anders turned and crossed his arms. “I do have something you could help me with. I need to get into the Chantry tonight. It’s… for a friend. He’s a mage and I think he might be in trouble.”

“Alright. I will meet you outside the Chantry tonight,” Hawke agreed.

“Just like that?” Anders said, puzzled.

“Helping my fellow mages is what I do best,” Hawke smiled as she raised her hand, fire erupting from her fingertips. The blue flames licked the air, and Anders simply stared at her.

“I-I had no idea,” he stammered. “Then it’s a deal. Help me with this, and my maps are yours. Let me grab some things first and then we can leave.”

***

The three made their way up to the Hightown Chantry. The streets were dark, yet quiet, surprisingly, and Hawke followed the mage up the steps to the large doors. Pushing through the doors, she followed silently behind him. A spark of fear shot up her spine. She had _no_ idea who this man was, or if he was safe to be around. She looked down at Varric, who looked just as nervous. They needed the maps, but did they need them _this_ much?

She followed him up the steps and they turned the corner to see a man in Chantry robes looking over at them. The man had dark hair and a vacant expression. The breath left Hawke as she gazed up at his forehead, which bore the mark of Tranquility – a red sun inside a circle. Anders let out a soft cry.

“Karl, no! What have they done?” He stifled a sob as he approached his friend.

“Anders.” Karl’s voice was monotonous and dry. A shiver ran down Hawke’s spine. “I knew you would come, you always do. They made me better. They can make you better, too. He’s here! The apostate!”

A band of Templars came from behind them, their swords drawn. Hawke lifted her staff quickly and shot several lightning bolts out toward them. A few stumbled back, but ultimately it did nothing. Varric pulled out Bianca and shot several of the Templars at once, sending a few of them flying back.

Anders cried out, and Hawke turned to see that he had been replaced by a blue glow. She blinked. That _was_ Anders. _Is he an abomination?_

She summoned several fire glyphs that ignited beneath the Templars’ feet, knocking a few of them over. One Templar took a swing at her and she jumped back, his sword just barely nicking her arm. An arrow shot through his neck and he staggered back. A shout came from behind her and she flipped around, thrusting a shot of fire out of her staff, throwing the Templar across the room.

“You will never touch another mage again!” he cried out in a voice that was not his own. It was deeper, harsher, _otherworldly._ Anders sent a large blast from his staff, and the remaining Templars all fell down into a heap. The room grew quiet, and Hawke straightened, looking back at Anders.

Karl gasped behind them. “Anders? Is that you? What have you done? It’s like… it’s like you opened up a piece of the Fade.”

“Karl?” Anders gasped, running back to his friend.

“Anders…” he said. “It’s already fading. Kill me before I go back to that… nothing!”

Anders held his breath and turned back to Hawke, his eyes filled with remorse.

Hawke bit her lip. “Help him. Nothing is worse than the fate he’s suffering.”

Anders took a deep breath and reached inside Karl, somehow pulling the life force from him. Karl fell to the ground in a heap, and Anders sobbed quietly.

“Let’s go before more come,” Varric said softly. Anders nodded and followed them out of the Chantry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is Fenris (again because damn I love that angsty elf)!


	9. Here Comes Trouble

Fenris made his way to the Hanged Man. _This is reckless_ , he thought. _It’s probably just a coincidence that she looks exactly like_ her. _I should really turn back. Having my curiosity sated is not a good enough reason to give away my location._

His feet kept moving toward the doors of the Hanged Man. He pushed against the wood that slowly gave way. He looked around the tavern, but didn’t see her anywhere. He sighed, internally kicking himself for his stupidity.

The tavern was so much livelier than it appeared on the outside. It was also exceptionally warm as compared to the attic he was staying in. He grimaced and walked over to the bar. _One drink_ , he thought. _And then I’ll go back._

The bartender took note of him and handed him a pint. “It’s on the house,” he laughed. “You look like you need it.”

Fenris grimaced and took the beer over to a table in the corner of the room, keeping his hood over his head. He took a swig of the liquid and coughed at the bitterness. He felt a sudden longing for the Qunari whiskey. He winced at his memories and stuffed them in the back of his mind.

The door to the tavern opened, and a beardless blond dwarf stepped through. He was dressed in leathers and a red tunic that dipped down the center to reveal his impressive chesthair. Fenris laughed to himself. _Did his beard fall to his chest?_

Behind him, a human woman followed. Fenris felt his heart race within his chest. Her long, dark hair cascaded down her back. She stepped in the room, assessing the scene. There was a sadness hidden in her deep blue eyes that almost caught him off-guard. _It_ is _her._ _Why was she in my dreams?_ She looked in his direction and he quickly looked away, hiding his face. _Maybe she was one of my healers that day_ , he thought miserably. _That would make sense._

He watched her from the corner of his eye as she left the room to follow the dwarf. _Although no Tevinter woman would ever be caught dead traveling with a dwarf._ He pressed his lips together and lifted himself from the table, leaving the beer behind. He preferred wine, anyway.

Walking out of the tavern, he took a deep breath, reveling in the night air.

“Psst!” someone hissed from several feet away. He turned quickly to see a small elven boy motioning to him. He stepped quietly over to him.

“Jerry, what have I told you about coming this way?” he whispered.

“Sorry, serah, I needed to find you. Your former master is here, in the city.”

“Where is he?” Fenris growled.

“I don’t know, but the hunters are going to try to lure you to the abandoned house in the Alienage. Something about documents saying where your family is? I’m not sure, but they plan on ambushing you with twenty hunters or so.”

Fenris closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thank you, Jerry. Here,” he pulled a coin from the small bag strapped to his side. “For your trouble.”

“Thanks, serah!” the boy said, scurrying away.

He would need more help.

***

“So I got this letter,” Hawke said, holding a piece of parchment in her hand as she walked with Varric, Carver, and Aveline through Lowtown. The evening air was cool, but it couldn’t mask the horrid smell of Lowtown. “They said something about needing help retrieving something. Since when did I become a delivery service?”

“Since you joined up with a smuggling company,” Varric said matter-of-factly. “Let me see?”

She handed him the letter. “He’s got a dwarven name,” Varric laughed. “I don’t know this Anso but I don’t think it’ll be that much of a struggle to make a few coins grabbing something for him.”

“Just so long as we’re not doing anything illegal,” Aveline muttered.

“Please,” Carver said with a laugh, “this is my _sister_ we’re talking about. You know she doesn’t care much about the rules here.”

“Hmph,” Aveline said.

Hawke led them town the steps and turned the corner to see a stout dwarf with dark hair and a large beard staring up the sky. She approached him slowly.

“Are you Anso?” she asked.

“Ahh!” the dwarf jumped. “Sweet mother of Partha, you can’t just run up on someone like that! Are you the one that mercenary told me about? The one looking for work?”

Hawke laughed. “Did you think I was going to attack you?”

“No! Or, I hope not. My apologize, human, I haven’t been on the surface for very long. I keep thinking I’m going to fall into that sky up there!”

Varric laughed. “My brother used to be like that. Got jumpy every time he stepped outside.”

“I’d pay to see that,” Carver chuckled.

“So, Anso? What is it that you need?”

“Well, some product of mine has been… misplaced. Well, rather the men who I paid to deliver it decided not to. If you were to retrieve my property I could reward you handsomely?”

“So what, exactly, did these men steal?” Hawke said, folding her arms.

“Did I say steal? I wouldn’t quite go that far. They seemed like perfectly decent smugglers. Smiled and everything.”

It took everything Hawke had not to roll her eyes. _You can’t just trust any old smuggler_ , she thought, remembering countless times when Athenril would have her give goods to someone other than the buyer if they offered a better price.

“The goods are valuable, however,” the dwarf continued. “Also illegal. And my client wants them very, very badly. You know how the templars can be.”

Hawke raised one eyebrow. “You’re smuggling lyrium?”

“Of course he is,” Carver scoffed. “That’s just bloody great.”

“Shh, not so loudly!” the dwarf hissed. He rubbed his hands together. “By the Paragons, I’m not cut out for this. I should have taken that stable sweeping job…”

“Nonsense,” Hawke said with a smile. “I’ll get you the goods. Just tell me where to go.”

“The gentlemen conduct their business at night at a little hovel down in the Alienage. You might have to kill them – but I’m sure they’ll be reasonable.”

Aveline sighed heavily. “Hawke… this sounds like trouble.”

Hawke turned to her, grinning. “What? It’ll be fine. You worry too much.”

She turned back to the dwarf. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

***

They reached the alienage later that night. There was a tree growing in the center, with tiny houses pressed tightly together. One house was sequestered on the opposite side of the courtyard. Hawke nodded her head in that direction.

“Who wants to bet it’s that one?”

Varric shrugged. “Might as well try?”

They walked to the door and Hawke knocked first. They heard the sound of footsteps. A man in heavy armor opened the door, his bushy brows furrowed together.

“We’re not expecting anyone,” a voice said in the back. “Tell them to shove off.”

The man nodded. “Time for you all to leave.” He looked back and saw Aveline. “Are you with the city guard? Boss!”

He reached for his dagger and turned back, only to be punched in the face. Hawke shook her fist as he fell.

“That’s one way to do it,” Varric laughed.

The gang stepped through the doorway and entered the hovel. It smelled of piss and mold. Hawke crinkled her nose. Several other smugglers stepped out of the back room.

“Hey!” they shouted, drawing their weapons.

Hawke pulled her staff out and shot several ice blasts at them, while Varric pulled out Bianca and shot several of the guards as they lunged.

Aveline knocked back several smugglers in one hit, while Carver took Hawke’s back as several guards with daggers tried to stab her.

When it was clear that there was no one left, Hawke stashed her staff. “Let’s take a look around,” she said. She saw a chest on the other side of the room. It was made of dark wood and had blue markings intricately carved across the lid.

“That’s a lyrium container, alright,” Varric noted. “Must be Anso’s.”

She nodded and knelt down to open the lid. There was nothing but dust inside. She stood and put her hands on her hips. “Well, this has been a particularly uneventful night,” she sighed. “Guess we’ll need to go back to Anso and tell him he’s out of luck with this shipment.”

“So there’s just nothing there?” Varric said, furrowing his brows.

“There goes an hour of my time,” Aveline mumbled under her breath. The four of them stumbled out of the hovel and back into the Alienage courtyard. Hawke stopped dead, staring at a large group of armed men staring back at her.

A woman stepped out of the group and looked back at them. “Where’s the elf?” one man shouted.

“It doesn’t matter. We were told to kill whoever went into the house,” the woman barked. “Attack!”

“Here we go again.” Hawke sucked in her breath and braced herself. She lifted her hand, a single flame rolling itself into a larger ball of fire. She hurled it at the leader, who managed to dodge it. Twirling her staff, she threw another few flames and dodged the leader’s swings. She spun on the ball of her foot and brought the staff with her, full force against the woman’s legs, toppling her.

Varric’s arrows were zipping through the air, knocking down several of the men running at them. Hawke stood up and conjured several glyphs beneath the mercenaries that surrounded her. Carver lunged at one of the soldiers and struck the man on the head, sending him downward. Hawke used the blade at the end of her staff to slice several of the men as they approached, most of them falling.

The leader let out a loud war cry as she charged at Hawke. Hawke spun around, thrusting the end of her staff’s blade into her core. Blood trickled down her staff, and the woman fell unconscious. Hawke laid her down and pulled her staff out.

Standing up, she fell back with the group. Carver began cleaning his sword. “Not yet,” Hawke warned, lifting one hand. “There may be more.”

He pursed his lips. They walked toward the edge of the alienage, their weapons still drawn.

Suddenly, a man with short brown hair walked down the stairs, seething. “I don’t know who you are, friend,” he spat. “But you have come to the wrong place. Lieutenant! I want everyone in the clearing, now!”

His lieutenant stumbled from behind him, his throat gurgling as he tried to speak before he fell to the ground in a bloody heap.

“Your men are dead,” a deep voice growled as a hooded figure approached him from behind. “Go back to your master.”

Hawke’s heart stopped. She knew that voice. Memories flooded back and she held her breath as the figure padded down the steps. _How can it be?_

“You are going nowhere, slave!” the man shouted, grabbing the hooded figures shoulder, pulling him back. Hawke pulled her staff out and readied herself.

The hooded figure threw his hood back, revealing stark white hair that hung over his green eyes. He grimaced as he turned back to the man. “I am _not_ a slave!” he shouted, his hand beginning to glow as he pierced through the man’s armor. Blood trickled from the man’s chest as he gasped. The elf pulled his arm back, and the guard fell back onto the steps with a loud _thud_.

The elf turned back around to face Hawke. He stopped cold and stared at her, his eyes wide. She stepped forward slowly. She could feel the others eyeing them curiously.

“Hello,” she said softly, her face burning. She was scared that her heart was going to leap out of her chest.

He stared for a moment, his eyes locked on hers, until finally he shook himself back into reality. “I apologize for the deception. I did not know that the hunters would be so numerous.”

“We managed just fine I think,” Hawke said stiffly. _Is he pretending not to know me?_ She threw a glance at Carver, who looked just as confused as she was.

“My name is Fenris. My former master, Danarius, is after me. I received a tip that he was sending his men here, and he sent messengers to lure me here. Out of curiosity, what was in the chest?”

“It was empty.” _Fenris? Not Leto? Is he not who I think he is?_

“Figures,” he grimaced and leaned down to check the dead hunter.  

“You didn’t need to lie to get my help, you know,” Hawke said, stepped closer. “I would have helped you anyway. It’s not like _I_ have a soft spot for slavers.” Maybe she looked too different now? _No, that can’t be it._

The sides of Fenris’ mouth curled upward. “That remains to be seen.” Her mouth pressed into a hard line. He reached down and pulled a note from the dead man’s pouch. “Ah, it’s as I thought. He is here, in Kirkwall, staying in his old mansion. I will require your help, and I will pay you for your services.”

“Lead the way,” Hawke said, now officially annoyed, as she motioning toward the stairs.      


	10. Sharp Little Pinpricks

“So where are you from?” she said as they walked through the streets of Hightown.  

“What does it matter where I’m from?” the elf growled.

“Just making casual conversation,” she murmured, irritated.

“Minrathous,” he said after a while.

“I’m from Denerim. Well, my brother and I are.” She looked at him to see if he would react. _Nothing_. His face stayed as hard as a stone and determined as they walked.

“We had a great childhood there,” Hawke continued. “We played games in the alleys…”

Fenris stopped and whirled around, his icy glare chilling her. “While I am sure that your childhood was great, mine was not because I was a slave to the man who is now hunting me down because of the lyrium that was injected into my skin. I appreciate your help, but if you don’t mind, I don’t particularly want to talk about the subject _._ ”

Her face flushed. His anger pulsed between them, and she suddenly felt like such an idiot. _He doesn’t remember any of it. Nothing of our childhood in Denerim, nothing of the afternoon by Amaranthine. Just… nothing._ She looked at his tattoos that seemed to stretch from his neck to his hands, and all the way down to his feet. _If his tattoos were made of lyrium, that could have altered him in ways that none of us could imagine._ Her eyes widened. _He doesn’t remember anything before the markings._ That’s _why he’s so confused._  

She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until Carver nudged her. “I think Leto’s gone off the deep end,” he said quietly.

Her brows knit together. “We need to help him, though. He shouldn’t be doing this alone.” _I’ll tell him later._

Carver scowled as Hawke continued on after the elf.

***

They reached a mansion at the edge of Hightown. Fenris led them to the door. “This is it,” he said, unsheathing his sword. He looked back at Hawke – the woman who still haunted his dreams – and he grimaced.

Her questions had struck a chord in him, one that he tried to ignore. She wanted to know him, just as Jarvad had. The memory of his friend filled his mind and he blinked it away. _Not again._

He turned to the door and wrapped his hand around the handle. The door clicked open to reveal the dark innards of the mansion. A chill ran down his spine. He clenched his teeth and walked through the threshold, leading the others inside. A light ignited behind him, and he turned to see Hawke smiling at him from behind her hand, which was now encircled with a flame. _A mage_ , he thought. _Why is it always mages?_

He twirled his blade and rocked his shoulders back as he continued down the corridor. “He has to be here somewhere,” he muttered.

They stumbled into the main room. Fenris frowned. The air felt wrong, somehow. A loud screech burst from up above at the top of the stairs.

“Demons,” Hawke hissed.

A red-hot demon burst into the room, its molten skin burning bright as it raised its hands to attack the group. Fenris stumbled back from it, his heart racing. Hawke slammed a chilling spell into it, slowing it down. The marks on his skin glowed and he gave a loud cry before slamming his blade into it, Aveline not too far behind with her own blade.

Several shades rose up from the floorboards, and Carver ran his sword through several at a time as Hawke cast several fireballs at them, turning them to ash as they fell.

“Why are there demons?” Hawke shouted to him as he finally cut through the Rage Demon, the beast bursting into flames as it disintegrated.

“Danarius must have sent them,” he shouted back, a shade coming at him quickly. Spinning around, he flung the demon back. He never imagined that they would feel so _real_.

A dark figure rose above them at the top of the staircase. It looked like a mess of bones and blood, wrapped in mage robes.

“An arcane horror,” Hawke said beside him. “Don’t let it hit you.” She ran up the stairs, her staff ready. He gritted his teeth and followed close behind her.

She slammed the horror with an invisible force, knocking it against the walls. It let out a screech, piercing their ears. Fenris ran at the demon, and threw his weight into a swing. The metal slammed into the creature, and it yelled out. It lifted its bony fingers and waved it at him, conjuring a blast of ice that hit him back against the wall. 

“Leto!” he heard Hawke shout before everything went black.

_Deep in the blackness, he looked into the abyss and felt his stomach twist as light swirled above, throwing him into a summer scene, faded but tangible. He looked out at the scene._

_“Come on, let’s play, Leto!” a small elven girl with dark hair jumped up and down. Her brother laughed, his eyes bright beneath his spiky brown hair. They ran across a patch of warm grass, the smell of embrium flowers wafting through the courtyard. Their mother smiled from behind them, her tired eyes relieved at the joys of her children._

_Other elves in the courtyard giggled as the little girl covered their heads with small flower crowns she’d spent the morning weaving carefully with her tiny fingers. They ran to the edge of the garden, their laughter bubbling into the air._

_He approached the mother, staring at the curves of her face, the twinkle of her green eyes. She looked through him, as if he were a ghost, a guest in a dream that didn’t belong to him._

Fenris jolted awake, and smacked his forehead into Hawke’s. She fell back with a yelp, rubbing the skin that was now turning red.

“Ow,” she said.

“My apologies,” he said. “What happened?”

“The horror hit you back and you fell unconscious,” the small dwarf named Varric replied. “We killed the rest of the demons, but there might be more.”

“Argh,” he muttered, lifting himself up. “Are you alright, Hawke?”

“I’m good,” she laughed. “I might have a concussion, but it’s no big deal.” She winked at him and he pressed his lips together into a thin line. _Is she flirting with me?_

“Let’s move on, then,” he said, looking around the room. There was a door behind them that looked promising. He reached for the handle and turned it, and the door creaked open.

The room was lit, but it was empty. He sighed heavily and stomped inside, flinging open the closet doors, and checking beneath the bed that sat in the center. “Damn waste of time,” he growled.

“Where do you think he went?” Hawke said, edging closer to him.

“I haven’t the slightest _fucking_ clue,” he snapped. “I… I need some air.” He stomped out of the room, his skin tingling as the markings glowed softly.

***

Hawke followed Fenris outside the mansion, the first light of morning peaking up over Hightown. The air of anxiousness clung around the elf as he paced in front of the doorway. She approached him. “Fenris,” she said softly.

He crossed his arms and turning away. “It never ends. I escaped a land of dark magic, only to have it hunt me at every turn. It is a plague burned into my flesh and my soul.” He shot a glare at her. “Now I find myself in the company of yet _another_ mage. I should have realized sooner what you really were. Tell me, then: what manner of mage are you? What is it that you seek?”

“Am I meant to be seeking something?” Hawke said, crossing her arms.

He grimaced. “No, I suppose not. I imagine that I appear ungrateful. If so, I apologize, for nothing could be further from the truth.” He pulled a pouch from his pocket. “The coin Anso promised. Thank you for your help, but I should be going.”

He dropped the purse in her hands and turned to leave. She clutched it helplessly. “Wait,” she called, her voice breaking. He turned to look at her. “Um…” _I really should have thought this through_ , she thought. “Why don’t you hang around for a while? At least until we find Danarius.”

He looked down at the ground. “Honestly I’m better off doing this alone. I wouldn’t want to trouble you further.”

She stepped forward. “It’s no trouble.” _Andraste’s ass, Marian, get it together. Don’t appear too desperate._ “I’m going on an expedition soon, to the Deep Roads. I could use your help, if you’re up for it.”

He bit his lip and stared into space for a moment. “I suppose I could lend my assistance,” he said slowly.

Hawke smiled brightly, and she swore she could see his cheeks redden as he turned and walked off down the road. Carver, Varric, and Aveline stood by her side. Carver cast a glance at her. “So has he just gone mad or does he really not remember?”

Her smile faded. “Whatever happened to him when he got those tattoos in Minrathous… I think it took his memories. He doesn’t even remember that he grew up in Vyrantium before he came to Denerim. He has no idea who we are.”

“So there is a story there with Mr. Broody,” Varric said. “You’ll have to fill me in later, Hawke.”

She nodded, her heart sinking as she watched Fenris disappear into the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading <3 Next chapter will be up soon!


	11. Justice

The smell of Darktown hit Hawke like a Qunari dreadnought ship. Her nose wrinkled and she walked past groups of homeless refugees, grimacing as she wished she had the coin to spare for them. She made her way to Anders’s clinic, noting the lantern that was still lit.

Her nightmares had been particularly awful last night. Her mother and brother were both lying dead in a heap, and her friends draping across their bodies as an invisible force killed them from the inside out. Darkspawn had emerged from the other room in their shack, laughing as she scrambled to heal them, their broken bodies bleeding profusely. She lifted her hands, the crimson liquid dripping down her fingers. The Darkspawn lunged at her, teeth bared. The rotting teeth bit into her arm, breaking open the skin. The red of her blood turned black, and she could feel the taint reaching for her heart. She woke up screaming, hurling Carver out of his death-like sleep.

She shook the memories from the early morning. Pushing the door to the clinic open, she saw the mage hunched over a mass of papers and herbs. One of her boots scuffed against the ground, and he whirled around, his gold eyes wide. Taking her in, he relaxed and sighed.

“Maker, you scared me Hawke.”

“Should I knock next time?” she said with a small laugh.

He grinned. “No, don’t worry about it. You’re always welcome, especially after helping me with Karl.” His gold eyes glazed over and he pressed his lips together.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “He must have been very dear to you.”

“He was,” Anders said with a laugh. “If only I’d just…” he shook his head. “Never mind. What brings you here?”

Hawke bit her lip. “I actually wanted to talk to you about your work.”

He smiled. “Well... I'm running a sort of... mage operation. It's secret, so don't tell anyone. Anyway, we could always use more people. I’m surprised that you’re interested – though not that surprised since you are a mage yourself…”

“No,” Hawke said, chuckling. “I meant your clinic.”

His face fell slightly. “Oh, alright. What of it?”

She held her breath. “I’ve never been particularly good at healing spells. I was wondering if you could teach me. In exchange, I’ll lend my services to this… mage operation or whatever you need.”

He raised one eyebrow. “You seem particularly good at other spells, though; particularly ones that nail people on their asses. Why the sudden urge to learn about healing? It seems hardly your cup of tea.”

She imagined that she could tell him about Bethany, or her father. But as the words rose to her lips, she choked on them and they burned as they made their way to the back of her throat. She could see Bethany’s eyes, the life slipping away as she sat there, her mind scraping for answers and her hands helpless to conjure anything that could help aside from a simple spell that could heal the outer flesh. She could remember looking inside her sister, feeling her heart giving out, her head shocked from the concussion, her lungs barely able to get enough air for a full breath, and her ribs crushed over them. Her eyes burned and she bit back with a smile. “It’s just a useful tool to have, just in case.”

He nodded. “It really is. Here, I have several manuscripts that we can look at. I’ll begin with the basics.”

***

 After several hours of teaching, Hawke’s head pounded as she tried to soak in all the information. The door behind them creaked open, and a young elven man stumbled in, clutching his arm.

“Are you free to help me?” the elf said timidly.

“Of course,” Anders said, waving his arm to the cot beside them. “Please sit down.”

The man sat on the cot, and Anders knelt beside him, raising his broken arm, and assessing the damage.

“Hawke,” he said after a while. “This would be good practice for you.”

She grimaced and approached.

“Take his arm,” Anders instructed. “Try to see inside and pinpoint any fractures or other damage.”

She carefully took the elf’s swelling arm in her hands and closed her eyes. She could sense the break within the bone. It would be a clean fix. She’d had worse. She looked to Anders and nodded. “I can feel it.”

“Now, remember what we talked about with bones. It’s much more difficult than skin, obviously, so you have to pull more from the Veil as well as making sure the strands of magic are pulling the bones straight together like a stitch. You don’t want the bone to be crooked.”

She nodded and the elf stared at her, nervous. “Don’t worry,” Anders said to the man. “I’ll make sure she does it correctly.”

Holding her hands over the arm, she closed her eyes and let her mind’s eye see the bone. Pulling from the veil, she could feel it move along the arm and dipping into the skin. Guiding it slowly, she pressed the energy to the inner part of the bone on both sides, gently pushing the bones together. One of her waves slipped, and she panicked as it began to shift the bone slightly. She could feel more waves from the Veil pulsing through the bones. Anders was shifting close to her, pulling the bone back straight as she continued to ease the fractured pieces together. Their magic was intertwined, looping around the bones, and her hair stood on end. Her father had always said that combining magic was an intimate process, though not always avoidable with certain spells. She knew that this sort of practice was common in the Circle, but she had never experienced anything like this before. Something inside him glowed blue, but you couldn’t see it on the surface. Her chest and cheeks felt warm as they worked, until finally the bone closed together.

In an instant the intertwined magic was severed, and her skin went cold.   

“Now,” Anders said, he voice low, making her quiver. “Pull the strands together and tie them tightly before fusing the two sides together.”

Her eyebrows furrowed and she did as he said. Once the bone was fused back together, she opened her eyes. The elf pulled his arm back and examined it with a smile.

“Thank you very much,” he said to them. He pulled out a silver coin and placed it in Anders’s hand. “This is all I have,”

Anders smiled. “Any donation is accepted.”

The elf stood up and took his leave. Standing up with Anders, Hawke realized that she was beaming with pride.

“You’re catching on quickly,” Anders said. “You’ll be a great healer in no time.” His gold eyes looked down at her, and she felt her breath leave her. He moved away and went back to his desk, writing something down quickly before shuffling the parchment back together and tucking it safely away in a small drawer.

“Is it that common?”

“Arm fractures?” Anders said, frowning.

“No…” she said, folding her arms across her chest. “Combining magic like that.”

“Oh,” he said softly. “I didn’t even think about it. I suppose you’re an apostate so you’re not used to it.”

She shook her head.

“With learning magic, it is,” he said simply, “although the connection is frightening at first. I’m sorry I didn’t warn you beforehand.”

“No, it’s fine,” she said softly, “I’m just happy to learn.”   

Anders looked back at her with a wide smile. “I’m happy to help.”

She turned to face the door, but then doubled back. “You never told me what happened in the Chantry,” she said carefully. “You started glowing and your voice changed when the templars came.”

Anders froze. “Ah, yes. That…”

Hawke frowned.

“When I was with the Grey Wardens in Amaranthine, I met a spirit of Justice trapped outside of the Fade. We became friends, and he saw the injustice that mages in Thedas face every day.”

“You mean a demon?”

“No,” he said simply. “While there are demons that often find the company of mages, there are good spirits, too. Demons prey on the sins of mankind, while spirits embody our virtues. He was such a spirit.”

“Okay,” Hawke said slowly. “So the reason your eyes were glowing is because…?”

“In order to live outside the Fade, he needed a host.”

 Hawke’s skin grew cold. _He let the spirit inside himself. Like an abomination._ Anders noticed her face change with the realization.

“We were going to work together to bring justice to every child ripped away from their family to be sent to the Circle. But I guess I had too much anger. Once he was inside, he changed.”

“So this spirit just _lives_ inside your head?”

“No, it’s not like that. He’s gone, now. He’s part of me.” He gave a soft chuckle. “It’s not like we can have conversations or anything. I feel his thoughts as my own. Not even the greatest scholar could tell you where I end and he begins.”

Hawke pursed her lips. He was clearly a troubled man, but she had never expected this. To have a spirit living inside you, changing you and twisting you from what you once were… she shuddered at the thought.

“I thought I was helping my friend,” he said slowly. “He would have died, I suppose, if that even means anything. He wanted to help me… but my anger when I see Templars now… things that always outraged me, things I could never do anything about… that’s when he comes out. He is no longer my friend, Justice. He is a force of Vengeance now, with no grasp of mercy.”  

The corners of Hawke’s lips lifted. “I guess this explains the whole sexy, tortured look you have going on.”

She knew she probably shouldn’t have said it, but with Fenris hating mages and not remembering any of their time spent together, part of her didn’t want to be alone anymore. Anders’s laughter filled the air around them, and his eyes shone brightly at her. “I guess I should check a looking glass more often. Not many women look past what I just said.”

She smiled and stood up. “I should probably head back. It’s getting late, and my mother will worry.”

“You’ll come back tomorrow, right?” he said. “For… lessons?”

She nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it,” she said as she made her way for the door.

***

 “You’re getting healing lessons from Blondie?” Varric said, raising one eyebrow. She gripped her cup that was filled halfway with mead and pressed her lips together. “You know he glows? And is probably insane?”

“He’s not _insane_ ,” Hawke said softly. “He’s just…”

“If you say misunderstood, I’m kicking you out,” the dwarf said, shaking his head. “You just told me that he has some kind of _spirit_ … thing… living inside him. If that’s not warning enough for you that someone is crazy we really need to work on your standards.”

She laughed. “It’s fine, Varric. There’s no harm in being friends with someone who might be a little off. Besides, he’s helping me learn healing spells. You know as well as I that this will be useful next time you break your hand trying to disarm a trap.”

He looked down at his hand and grimaced. “It still doesn’t feel quite right,” he murmured. “Regardless, I just think you should be careful with that one.”

“Very well,” Hawke conceded. “I’ll be careful.”

The tavern was weirdly quiet that day. They had opened the windows to let in the cool air from Lowtown, and Hawke shivered as a breeze moved through the room.

“So you never told me the story behind Mr. Broody the elf.”

She grimaced. There had been no sign of Fenris since he stalked off the other night. She wanted to go find him, make sure he was okay, but she knew he liked dealing with this sort of thing on his own. In the meantime, she decided she would busy herself with friends and odd jobs until he came around.

_If he ever comes around._

“You’re right, I didn’t,” she sighed. “I suppose there’s time now.”

She started from the beginning. Denerim, Magister Verres, the alleyway, the little games of Mages and Templars. Varric laughed at that one. When she finished with the day she swore she saw him slipping back into the forest, she felt her face fall.

“So much has happened to him. But I can’t ask him about it, not the way I used to be able to. I’m a stranger to him now.”

Varric placed a hand on her shoulder sympathetically. “Maybe one day he will remember.”

“Maybe,” she said, taking a deep breath. She was not about to cry at the Hanged Man. She didn’t want to have faith that he would remember one day, because it would hurt too much if it never happened. But, with luck, she could distract herself with the Deep Roads Expedition and healing lessons with Anders. At least for now.  


	12. Aggregio Pavali

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke finally goes to visit Fenris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has brief mentions of abuse, but doesn't go into it much.  
> If this is triggering for you, don't read Fenris's flashback (marked by asterisks and ends with a large space).

The soles of her boots padded softly across the stone walkways of Hightown. The cool evening air brushed softly against her cheeks, and the sun was dipping down over beyond the horizon. Hawke reached the little street that veered off to Danarius’s mansion – or rather, Fenris’s mansion until he killed Danarius. The building towered over the others beside it, and the ornate door looked as though it had braved many attempted burglaries based on the careless scratches against the lock above the doorknob and the general wear across the wood. Hawke took a deep breath. She hadn’t seen Fenris in so long – she wondered if maybe he had been waiting for her to come visit him. Knocking on the door, she waited patiently – though she suspected he would probably not come to answer the door. After all, he was the only resident in a very large mansion. She raised her hand to the door handle and pushed against it slowly. It clicked open.

The mansion was still dark, as it had been before. She slowly let herself in, and closed the door behind her. Making her way through the dark, dank halls, she finally reached the main room.

“Hello?” she called, her voice bouncing across the walls. The room was vast, and most of the paintings that were hung against the walls had been either ripped or torn off. Some of the paintings were resting in a pile by the grey fireplace, ripped up and ready to be used as kindling. Her gaze was torn from the fireplace when she caught a flash of white hair in her peripherals.

“Hello, Hawke,” Fenris said at the top of the staircase. “I didn’t realize you would be stopping by.”

“I didn’t either,” she said, her eyes fixed to his. They were still so green – that part hadn’t changed, at least. “I hadn’t heard from you in a while, so I decided to drop in. I can come back if you like.”

He shook his head. “No need. I am not doing much of anything, and I’d enjoy the company.” She smiled and he motioned for her to follow him up the stairs.

His room was untidy like the rest of the mansion, but he had a fire roaring in his personal fireplace and countless bottles sitting idly on the wood table across the room. He had pushed his bed into the other corner, and two longer benches sat beside the fireplace. She sat on the bench resting perpendicular to it, glad of the heat.

“We have not spoken in a while,” Fenris said gruffly as he pulled a green bottle from table, opening it carelessly and taking a swig. “Tell me, have you come any closer to beginning your expedition?”

“Not yet,” she sighed. “I’ve almost collected enough coin for it, but I’m still waiting for Varric to get back to me on several jobs he might have. After that, we will begin proper preparations.”

“I see,” he said. He handed another bottle to Hawke, ripping it open as well, a small smile growing on his face as she met the lip of the bottle to her own. The red liquid slid down her tongue and throat.

He took another drink from the bottle and looked down at it. “Agreggio Pavali. There are six bottles in the cellar. Danarius used to have me pour it for his guests. My appearance intimidated them, he said, which he enjoyed.”

“I can’t imagine why they would be put off,” Hawke said, her mouth spreading into a smile as she took another drink.  

“I will take that as a compliment,” Fenris chuckled. He took another long swig from the bottle. Looking down at it again, he flashed Hawke a mischievous grin and threw the bottle at the wall. Glass and wine splayed across it. He sighed. “It’s good that I can still take pleasure in the small things.”

“Such as redecorating the walls?” she said slyly.

He let out a laugh. Hawke’s heart filled with an incredible warmth. She had missed his laugh. His laughter dwindled after a moment, and his face fell slightly as he sat on the other bench. “I wanted to leave the past behind me. But it never stays there.” He looked up at her. “Have you never wanted to return to Ferelden?”

Hawke paused. The Blight was over, but all of her family was here. Even Leto – _Fenris_ – was here. She missed it, in a way, but there were so many nightmares left in Ferelden. Kirkwall, regardless of the circumstances that forced her there, had become something of a haven to her. Even with the Templars present, she’d been able to stay out of there sight.

“It is an attractive idea,” she said slowly. “But Kirkwall is my home now. Wherever my family is – that’s where I belong.”

“I understand,” Fenris said, his eyes darkening as he looked away. He seemed lost in his own thoughts as well. “It is good to have a place to put down roots. Still – to have the option… it must be gratifying.”

“Have you thought about what you will do? Once Danarius is dead?”

He shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure, though I haven’t thought of it much. I could return to Seheron once all this is done, but I’m not sure if there would be a life for me there.”

“Not Minrathous? I thought you said you were from there?”

“It is where I lived with Danarius for as long as I can remember, though I’ve been told that I was born in Seheron, and it’s potentially where any family I might have will be staying.”

“Your family wasn’t with you when you were with Danarius?”

“No,” Fenris said simply. Hawke frowned. Leto would have never left his family – though it was already strange that Magister Verres was no longer his master. He was a better man than this Danarius, based on everything that Leto had once told her. _If they weren’t with him, there’s a chance that they will be with Magister Verres. I need to tell him._ But if she told him the truth now, before he could trust her, there was a chance he would flee. _He needs to know, but perhaps I will tell him once this whole mess with the Magister is over._

“But, as I said,” he continued, “there’s no life for me there, regardless of whether or not I have family. I may return one day, but until then…” his voice trailed off and he stared down at his hands.

“If you’re looking to start a life, you could stay in Kirkwall.”

He glanced up at her. “Perhaps… I could see myself staying, for the right reasons.” Her eyes met his and she felt her cheeks get hot. His jaw was sharper now – more pronounced. The white of his hair made his skin look significantly darker, and his thin shirt was clinging to his shoulder muscles tightly. She held her breath.

“I should be getting back soon,” she said. Varric would still be awake, and she needed to talk to someone about all this.

“Of course,” he said, standing up. She followed him out of the room. They made their way down the steps and she shivered at the cool air that floated around the mansion. 

“I should thank you again for helping me with the hunters,” he said, breaking the pregnant silence as they approached the front door. He opened it, and they stepped out of the mansion. “Had I known Anso would find me a woman so capable, I might have asked for him to look sooner.” The moon hung above them, highlighting the specks of gold in his eyes that offset the green.   

Her blush deepened and she flashed him a smile, hoping not to seem too awkward. “Maybe I should be thanking Anso.” Part of her felt like she was playing with fire. She knew she still had feelings for him – but with everything going on, she should be focused on helping him remember everything else. Not just her. He would need to know sooner or later of their history, but his own history was more important. Adding on what happened on the shores of Amaranthine might be too overwhelming. _But not tonight_.

“Maybe you should,” he chuckled. “Perhaps I’ll practice my flattery for your next visit? With any luck, I’ll become better at it.”

***

Fenris watched as Hawke turned and walked down the street into the night, his heart tugged in her direction. She was a mage, yes, but he could see that she cared about his well-being. _But that could be a mask she wears,_ he thought miserably. He went inside the mansion and crawled up to his room, slouching onto his bed, his hands folded between his knees. _It may well be that she wishes to keep me around because of my markings._ He snarled at the thought. There was a part of him that didn’t believe that she was selfish the way Danarius was – but he knew better than to trust a mage who seemed to care. His former master had been evidence enough of that.

For the first few months after he had received his markings, Danarius seemed to be pleased with him. He fought well and was more loyal than any slave in the magister’s household was. That was, until he showed any interest in knowing about his past.

He had been giving Danarius a shave. The fire of Danarius’s room was roaring steadily, and the sharp blade gently scraped the side of his master’s jaw. Fenris rinsed the blade, and he looked into the fire. An image flashed in his mind – green eyes, like his own, feminine and lined with crow’s feet. He blinked. _My mother_. The sudden realization of what it was made his breath catch. Danarius eyed him and he returned to shaving.

“Master,” he said slowly.

“Hm?” his master said.

“Did you... know my mother?” His voice cracked.

“No and it doesn’t concern you anymore. You are mine now, remember?”

Fenris pressed his lips together. He knew better than to press his master, but… “But what did she…”

“Fenris,” Danarius growled, catching his wrist. The elf clenched his teeth. “When I am _finished_ discussing something, the subject is no longer available to _discuss_. Now do your job, _slave._ ”

“Yes, master.” Fenris swallowed a growl that was steadily growing in his throat. He looked away from Danarius’s hateful eyes and continued shaving. The edge of the razor let out a scrape across his master’s skin. He imagined pressing the blade against his skin, reveling in the silent screams that echoed in his head. He had the power to hurt him – just a little bit – and call it an accident. He smiled to himself. Pulling the blade against his master’s cheek, he tipped the blade ever so slightly and suddenly – red beads blossomed across a long slit. Danarius let out a yelp and threw Fenris back, hitting him against the wall on the other side of the bedchamber.

Danarius touched his cheek, his mouth opening at the blood now dripping down his fingers. His eyes flashed to Fenris, a violent fire burning inside them as he stormed to his direction. The elf covered his face, preparing for impact. _Think of the Amaranthine Sea._

Fenris shivered at the memory, and pushed it to the back of his mind. He would not let Danarius take anything more from him. He sighed and clenched his hands into fists before falling back on the bed and closing his eyes. Sleep could not come fast enough.  

 

The next day, he was surprised to be woken from his death-like sleep to the sound of knocking on his bedroom door. He whipped forward and grabbed a dagger, slinking to the door to slowly opening it. Hawke stared down at him, and cocked her head to the side.

“You know, you could at least keep the front door locked if you don’t want people to wake you. Even still, stabbing me _would_ be rather extreme.”

He sighed and lowered the dagger. “Hello, Hawke.” His voice came out much rougher than he had planned.

“We’re headed to the mountains!” She splayed her arms out wide, her mouth spread into a childish grin. “You’ll come won’t you? Of course you’ll come.” She rested her hands on her hips, smile unfading even as he glared at her.

“It’s rather early,” he grumbled.

“Oh, please, it’s almost midday,” she said, tossing her hand forward carelessly. “Please? It will be oh so much fun.”

“I didn’t realize you were a morning person,” he grumbled, removing his hand from the door and tossing his knife onto the bedside table before pulling out his armor from a small wooden chest.

“So you _will_ come!”

He sighed. “You are completely ridiculous.” Pulling off his white tunic that he’d been wearing since the day before, he picked up a fresh one and turned back to look at Hawke. Her cheeks were red and she turned her heel and rested on the doorframe. “Sorry,” she said quickly. “I’ll let you have your privacy.”

He snickered quietly as he pulled the tunic over his head.

After he had changed, he returned to the doorway where Hawke still stood, fiddling with her short fingernails. She looked up at him, the blush still lingering on her skin. Her dark hair had fallen around her face, and her large blue eyes stared into his.

“I’m decent now. Care to tell me what exactly we will be doing in the mountains?”

“Oh. Right. I just have to drop off this trinket at the Dalish clan up there. It’s to pay a debt. But the mountains are pretty… dangerous.” She balanced on the balls of her feet, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Fenris raised one eyebrow. She was wearing armor – mage armor, but armor nonetheless - and had several daggers hooked to her hips and a staff strapped to her back.

“Afraid of the bears and spiders?” he snickered.

The side of her mouth tugged upward. “Those bears and spiders are nothing to sneeze at.”

“Fine,” he said, grabbing his sword from behind the door and strapping it to his back, the weight making his muscles ache slightly. “Let’s go then.”

She grinned and led him down the stairs and out of the mansion. Varric was standing near the threshold, accompanied by a tall blonde man dressed in a mage garb with a staff also strapped to his back. The man gazed at Hawke as she reappeared, a smile blossoming on his angular face. Fenris bristled slightly. The male mage looked over to Fenris and his face fell into a neutral stare.

“Fenris, you’ve met Varric,” Hawke said, motioning to the dwarf, “and this is Anders. He’s a healer down in Darktown.”

Fenris gave a small nod in his direction.

“So,” Anders said, grinning at Hawke. “Are we ready to start our mountainous adventure?”

Hawke grinned back at him, and Fenris grimaced. _He’s the reason she’s so chipper_. He took a deep breath and followed them down the street, about ready to go sink his sword into some mountain spiders.       

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad I finally was able to finish this chapter up. I had a brief spell of writer's block, but we're back!


	13. Sundermount

Sundermount loomed overhead – a terrestrial giant casting its morning shadow across Kirkwall. The mountain itself was an array of various shades of brown with sporadic patches of green. Marian stared ahead, the scuffing behind her slowing as she assessed the trails that curled their way around. The browns reminded her a little too much of Ferelden. Her gut clenched as she looked back at Leto. His eyes shifted from the mountain to her, and he gave her a nod assuring her that they would be just fine. Anders stepped in place beside her and she gave him a quick smile before letting her feet carry her forward.

“So, we have to give that little trinket you showed me to the Dalish clan?” Varric said after a while. “Is it some kind of old elven relic or something?”

“I’m not really sure. The old woman just told us to give it to them as payment.”

“Payment for what, exactly?” Anders asked as they climbed higher. Using his staff, he pulled himself up several rocks to get to the main trail.

“For saving us from the Darkspawn,” Hawke said slowly.

“How exactly does an old woman save all of you – including Aveline – from the Darkspawn?”

“She was a Witch of the Wilds.”

Anders stopped. “You made a deal with a _witch_? Without even knowing the consequences?”

“The consequence of _not_ taking her deal was death by Darkspawn,” Hawke said, her lips pressed together. She pushed the memories back, hoping they wouldn’t become too much of a nuisance.

Anders sighed disapprovingly. “What is this trinket that she gave you?”

She pulled the amulet out of her pocket and handed it to the mage. His brows furrowed as he held it and thrust it back into her palm. “Something is very wrong about that amulet,” he said shuddering. “Whatever the elves want it for can’t be good.”

“Well of course it’s not _good_ ,” Fenris said. “It’s a _magical artifact_.”

“Not all magic is malevolent,” Anders replied angrily. “It just happens that this particular artifact is.”

“Perhaps not, but even benevolent magic can be used against people. There is a very select few who don’t use magic for their _personal gain_.”

Anders scoffed. “You _cannot_ compare every mage in Tevinter to the rest of Thedas.”

“I have met my fair share of mages from Ferelden and Nevarra,” Fenris growled. “They are _all_ the same, they will _all_ be tempted by the same power.”

“That’s not fair,” Hawke interjected. Fenris’s eyes shot up to hers. His eyes were almost… apologetic. Until Anders spoke again.

“Hawke is right. Not every mage is good, yes, but we cannot all be held accountable for _your master’s_ transgressions.”

“ _He is not my master_ ,” Fenris snarled. “But not that _you_ would care about anything involving the freedom of slaves. Instead you whine about your right to perform magic whenever and however you please, with no consideration of who or what it hurts in the process.”

Anders’s eyes glowed blue, and his skin began to follow suit. Fenris stepped back.

“Anders,” Hawke said softly, touching his arm. He didn’t know that Justice was coming out, but it was not something that she necessarily wanted to deal with at the moment.

Anders turned away from Fenris and took a deep breath. The glowing blue dimmed, the pink in his cheeks and the gold of his eyes returning. He gave her an apologetic smile.

“Isn’t it a beautiful day in the mountains, Hawke?” Varric said suddenly, and the growing heat in her face subsided. She let out an awkward laugh, turning away from the bickering men.

They pressed on, and she tried not to think about Fenris’s argument with Anders, as well as the unnatural feeling hidden in the stone. She sighed. Whatever the witch had put in the stone wasn’t good. The night before, she had held the amulet and closed her eyes, searching for what might possibly be lurking within the stone. A flash of green covered the lids of her eyes, and there was nothing but fire and ash falling from the black skies above. A crash came from across a cavern, and a red figure was emerging from a pool of tar. Its face had become less and less blurry as it approached, but when her eyes finally focused in on it - she had thrown the stone across the room, breathing heavily as she tried to wash the images from her mind.

She looked back to see Fenris falling behind, his face hardened like stone. She let herself fall behind the caravan and walked beside him.

“What’s wrong? Besides Anders,” she said, adding the last bit under her breath. She could have sworn the mage turned his head slightly.  

Fenris crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s a dangerous thing to be messing with magic like that,” he said, his voice low.  

“I didn’t have a choice,” she replied. “I couldn’t just let the Darkspawn have what’s left of my family.”

“I know,” he said, looking at her with a grimace. “I’m sorry, it’s… not my place. But, if I may ask, why did Anders start glowing blue? I have never seen a mage do that before.”

Hawke hesitated. He was _not_ going to like the answer. “Anders shares a body with a spirit of Justice. Or he did, until they became fused together.”

Fenris scoffed. “I should have known he would consort with demons and turn himself into an abomination.”

“He did it to help the spirit, Fenris.”

“The _demon_ , you mean.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the air and she bit her lip. It wasn’t an argument she wanted to get into, especially when _she_ didn’t even understand fully what Anders and Justice truly were. She felt a sharp twang of anger within her at his disgust for mages – even though she herself was one. But he had been on the receiving end of horrible magic nearly his whole life, and it would take a while for him to understand that not all magic is evil. She hoped, at least. If there was anything she wanted to do more, it was to show him that magic is not always something to be used for power or against other people.

Hawke looked around, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. Several rocks cracked against the side of the mountain, and she stopped. Fenris was looking around cautiously, standing with his back to hers.  

“Stop walking,” she called to the other two men, slowly removing her staff from her back.

The dwarf and the mage turned as yells came from up above. 

“ _Bandits_ ,” Fenris hissed.

Several bandits rolled down the side of the hill, their weapons drawn as they began to swing at the group. Most of them were dressed in red garbs and armed to the teeth with small knives. One bandit flew at Hawke, his knife just barely scraping the skin of her arm before she jumped back as Anders sent a fiery spell to smack the bandit across the face, his skin red as it burned.

She twirled her staff, slicing him across the chest and hitting him across the head. The bandit fell back and she whirled around as another bandit was running at her. Throwing a blast of ice, he was knocked back, slamming into another bandit that was running at Varric. She smiled and turned to see Fenris throwing his weight into a swing at a bandit.

Anders threw a spell at the same time, and the blast of magic hit Fenris. He gave a growl as he hit the earth below – hard. Hawke’s heart stopped when she saw crimson blooming from his side, and she ran toward the elf. Another bandit took the opening and lunged at Fenris. Hawke threw a blast of fire, scorching the man before he even got close to Fenris.

The elf clutched his side and grimaced as he tried to stand up. Hawke pulled him up the rest of the way, and he jerked away from her hands. He pointed a single finger at Anders. “Watch where you are casting those spells, _mage_.” His voice dripped with venom.

“Well I’m sorry for taking care of the bandit faster than you could, _elf_. I could have let him sink that blade into you while you were _wide open_.”

“I would rather it be _his blade_ than _your_ _magic._ ”

The mage rolled his eyes and walked away. Fenris’s jaw locked as Hawke ran toward him. He was almost doubled over as he clutched his side.

“We need to take care of that,” she said softly. 

He stepped back from her. “No.”

“Fenris,” she said slowly. “It will be fast, I promise. Easy.”

“Do not touch me,” he growled. There was fire in his eyes, and her heart clenched tightly in her chest as he stepped away and pulled a small vial out of his pocket. He took a swig and threw the vial against a nearby rock before pulling his sword back up.

Varric’s arrows rained over several others, injuring them as Hawke used a mind blast to shoot them backwards, rendering them unconscious.  

She looked around at the bandits sprawled across the ground. She grimaced at the carnage and strapped her staff to her back again. She could still hear the echo of Fenris’s words in her mind. _Do not touch me_. Her eyes stung and she bit back the hot tears that threatened to flood her eyes.

“I think that’s the last of them,” Varric said beside her. She nodded.

“Might as well continue,” she said after she collected herself. 

They made their way past several sand dunes and rocks before they reached a small clearing on the side of the mountain. There was a clear path that led to an even larger opening down the way – the Dalish camp. Two elves stood at the opening to the camp, armed to the teeth with tattoos swirling across their faces.

She’d never seen many Dalish elves in her life – the rare few had wandered through Denerim or were seen in the Alienage in Lowtown. Even still, she’d never _spoken_ to them. She bit her lip as they approached.

“Don’t come any closer, stranger,” one of the elves said, his accent more typical of someone from Starkhaven than Kirkwall. The tattoos along his face were a dark red, highlighting the red in his brown hair that fell around his face. His eyes were an icy blue – cold with almost a hint of _hatred._ “Your kind is not welcome here.” He nocked an arrow in his bow.

“Please,” Hawke said, raising her hands in the air. “I mean you no harm. I’m here to speak with Keeper Marethari.”

The two elves stared at her. “What business do you have with the Keeper?”

“I was given an amulet and told to bring it to her,” she replied, her mouth dry.

“Wait,” the other elf said. Her hair was pulled back out of her face, and her armor matched that of her companion’s. “This is the one the Keeper told us about. I didn’t think she would be a _human_ though.” Her Ferelden accent was thick, but icy as she spat out the last few words.

“You may pass, stranger,” the elven man said, “but know that our arrows are still trained on you.”

She nodded and led the group into the camp without another word. The camp was busy – elves ran around with meats strapped to their backs and baskets full of herbs and other vegetables. There were land ships resting along the sides of the mountain, and several children were jumping around them, giggling as they played. The eyes of the elves lingered cautiously on the group as they made their way across the camp. An older elven woman stood at the other end of the camp. She made eye contact with Hawke and motioned for them to come closer.

“You are Keeper Marethari, I take it?” Hawke said. “I was told to bring you this amulet.” She pulled the amulet from her pocket, a queasy feeling wrapping around the pit of her stomach.

“Ah, yes. However, your work is not quite done.”

“It isn’t?” Hawke frowned.

“You must take the amulet to the peak of the mountain and perform a ritual. I will send my First with you, she knows the words. However, I must ask of you one more thing.”

Hawke pursed her lips and snuck a glance at Fenris. He looked almost disgusted with the whole affair. He caught her eyes and relaxed his face.  

“When you leave,” the Keeper said, “I would like you to take her with you.”

“That’s rather odd,” Varric said behind her.

“Indeed,” Hawke agreed. “Why do you wish for me to take your First?”

“It is… difficult to explain. But it is her choice.”

Hawke nodded. “I suppose there’s no harm in escorting her back to Kirkwall.”

The old woman smiled. “She is just up the hill waiting for you. She’ll lead you through the mountain passages to the top.”

Hawke led the others up the path.

***

Rounding the corner, Fenris followed behind the group. His side still stung where Anders had hit him. He knew it would be better if Hawke healed him, but he didn’t want to give the blasted blond mage the satisfaction. The image of her face after he’d snapped at her was burned in his mind. His heart sank, and he sped up as the group stopped in front of a small elven woman with short black hair.

“My name is Merrill,” she said, her voice timid. “I can show you the way. I’ve also done a little fighting before but, I’ll try not to hit anyone.”

Fenris glared at Anders, and the mage rolled his eyes. “I _am_ sorry for that, you know.”

Hawke sighed. “Alright, let’s be off then.”

Merrill led them up the path. Fenris could sense the air getting thinner, and grimaced as his ears popped. Hawke was walking steadily beside Merrill ahead of them, and they made their way to the mouth of a cave.

He knew she was angry. In the back of his mind, he knew she had every right to be angry. _Maybe I should talk to her tonight_ , he thought. She was the first friend he’d had in a long time, or… ever really. He couldn’t recall having any sort of _friends_ before. When he slept he could catch small glimpses of faces; a young elven girl with a pointed nose and red hair, an elven man with weapons strapped to every inch of his body – and a human woman. Some days she was a ghost fluttering in the distance, some days he swore it was just Hawke that he was dreaming of, but he always called her something different. He would struggle to recall any of their names, if they were even real. The words would ride up his throat and reach his tongue, but would jumble into a mass of sounds in his mind.

But he couldn’t stop reminding himself that she was also a mage. Everything he had grown up with, the corruption that he saw mages falling into each day… he didn’t want that to be something that happened to her. Some part of him wanted to believe that she was special – different. Another part realized on some level that her treatment of magic was seemingly still untested, and as powerful as she was, he wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end. He caught a glance as she walked. Her strides were graceful – head held high, back straight, lithe steps as she carried her staff. Even when she used it in battle, both the staff and the magic were an extension of herself and could take down a man with a flick of her wrist. She was absolutely _terrifying_.

They trampled through the caves, taking down several giant spiders as they went. The caves reeked of mildew, and the scattering of spiders in distant tunnels sent a shiver down his spine. When the tiny elf woman finally led them to another opening to the cave, Fenris inhaled the sweet mountain air deeply. Merrill led them to an entrance marked by two tall boulders with markings etched into the stone. There was a glimmer of light between them that hummed with energy.

_Magic._

Hawke stepped forward, reaching out her hand. Fenris flinched. _Not a good idea._

“Wait,” Merrill said, stopping Hawke. “I know a way forward.”

Hawke nodded slightly and stepped back, taking her place beside Anders. Fenris bristled slightly.

Merrill took a deep breath as she pulled a dagger out. Fenris held his breath. _No. Not blood magic, not again._

The elven woman sliced her hand and everyone became stunningly silent as she pulled the blood from her hand and warped it against the hissing barrier, pushing through it until it shattered. She turned around, her eyes downcast.

“Blood magic,” Hawke said softly.

“Foolish, very foolish,” Fenris said under his breath.  

“Yes, it is blood magic. But I know what I’m doing,” Merrill explained, her voice sharp. “The spirit helped us, did it not?”

“Yes, very helpful,” Hawke said, her voice laced with sarcasm, “right up until they take your mind and turn you into a monster.”

“Well, yes,” Merrill said slowly. “But that won’t happen. I know how to defend myself.”

 “Is this why you are to leave with me?” Hawke asked. “Because of blood magic?”

“And ignorance,” Merrill said softly. “My clan doesn’t understand. And it’s… just better this way.”

The rest of them – even the abomination – were completely silent as they stepped through the entrance and into what looked like a graveyard. The air was uneasy, and Fenris felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

The ground beneath their feet began to tremble, and he readied his weapon. There was a grumble from beneath the earth, and several skeletal hands pushed their way through. Their screeches pierced his ears, and he clenched his teeth as he swung at several of them, crushing their bones together as they went down.

Several demons appeared across the way and hurled their shadowy bodies at the group, their presence equally freezing and burning as they slashed at them. Fenris yelled out as he stabbed several demons, smiling as they landed in a heap at his feet.  

Hawke let out a cry.

He whipped around to see a skeleton jamming a sharp object into the center of her abdomen. Getting his bearings, he began to charge at the creature. In an instant, there was a flash of magic and the skeleton was a mass of ashes. He kicked back another skeleton on its way to attack her, and swung his blade, cutting its spine in half.

Merrill shouted something in elven and cast a spell on the ground, silencing the earth as well as the undead. He turned quickly to Hawke to see Anders already at her side, holding her up with one arm as his other hand glowed over her wound. He stifled a growl and trained his face as he watched her grit her teeth through the pain.

When she was healed, Anders helped her up – and she took a deep breath before meeting Fenris’s eyes. He blinked and looked away, trying to ward off the oncoming scowl.

“Is everyone else alright?” Anders said.

The elven woman and the dwarf chimed in that they were fine, but Fenris could only nod. He’d only just met the male mage, but he could already feel the revulsion weighing on his chest. Anders’s blind belief that mages were _always_ anything but inherently malevolent was sickening, and just as sickening as the fact that he shared a body with a demon. He knew his fair share of mages – and the one good mage he’d met was falling into the _abomination’s_ trap.

***

"Blood magic is never anything to be toyed with,” her father had once explained, “although many will sometimes see it as the only option regardless of the countless alternatives.”

“But why do they choose it?” she had asked. She was thirteen, and her father had planned on waiting until she was older to explain it. But everything changed when a blood mage had been found within Denerim, and Templars had hauled him through the city to be executed.

“Because it is powerful,” her father said, his brown eyes saddening. “It amplifies your magic in ways you would not believe. But there is a price.” He raised one finger. “First, you must make a deal with a demon. And second,” he raised another finger, “you must have a willing participant. Most people use their own blood, of course, but it can be tiring if you are performing a particularly difficult spell. But from then on, whenever you use it, you leave yourself vulnerable to the demons. If you go for too long unguarded, you become an abomination.”

Marian blinked away her father’s memory as Anders stared curiously into her eyes. Her side ached terribly, and she’d almost blacked out from the pain of the sharp knife going through her abdomen. The blood that now stained her hands made her stiffen. The elven woman seemed so sweet and timid. _But a blood mage? That is never something you take lightly._ The cool air rushed around them as Anders lifted her. She glanced over at Fenris, who was hiding behind his stark white hair. _He must be beyond livid with me that I landed us in the company of a blood mage,_ she thought miserably. _I just wish he could understand that I’m not sympathetic with her at all. But I doubt he would believe me. After all, I am a mage._ She frowned bitterly and turned back to the direction they had initially intended. They walked past headstones decorated with towers of balanced rocks and foliage.

“In the days of Arlathan,” Merrill said, “the elders came here to sleep. _Uthenera_. The endless dream, they called it. But they don’t sleep peacefully anymore.”

Hawke shivered as she followed Merrill to an altar at the end of the cliffs. Hawke stood at the foot of the altar, and her stomach felt queasy. She picked up the amulet, and it took everything in her power to keep herself from vomiting.

“Place the amulet on the altar,” the elven woman said softly.

Hawke took the amulet and placed it on the stone, her body shaking. As soon as the amulet was released, she felt her shivers calm, and steadied herself as she backed away from the altar.

Merrill stepped up to the altar and raised her hand. “ _Hahren na melana sahlin. Emma ir abelas souver’inan isala harmin vhenan him dor’felas. In uthenera na revas.”_

A whorl of smoke rose up from  the amulet and a woman rose up from the stone.

_Flemeth._

“Ah,” Flemeth said, stretching her neck as she slowly approached. She looked no different from the day she had met her nearly two years ago, her eyes just as startling gold and her voice just as full and powerful. “And here we are.”

“A _witch,_ ” Fenris hissed behind her.

“It’s alright, Fenris,” Merrill said. “She means us no harm.”

Merrill bowed. “Andaran atish’an, Asha’bellanar.”

“One of the people, I see, so young and bright. Do you know who I am, beyond that title?”

“Only a little.”

“Then stand. The people bend the knee too quickly.” The woman turned to look at Hawke. “So refreshing to see someone who kept their end of the bargain. I half-expected my amulet to end up in some merchant’s pocket!” she chuckled slightly.

“I agreed to deliver the amulet,” Hawke said. “Though you could have told me you were inside it. I nearly grew sick just from holding it.”

“It was just a piece. A small piece, but it was all I needed. A bit of security should the inevitable occur. And if I know my Morrigan, it already has.”

“You are no simple witch,” Fenris said.

“Figure that out yourself, did you?” the witch said with a smirk.

Fenris bristled. “I have seen powerful mages, spirits, and abominations. But you are none of those things. What are you?”

“Such a curious lad.” Flemeth put an armored finger to her chin. “Your chains have been broken, but what has been lost has not returned, so are you truly free?”

Fenris crossed his arms and lowered his face. “You see a great deal.”   

Hawke looked back to Flemeth. “Who is this Morrigan you spoke of?”

“She is a girl who thinks she knows what is what better than I, better than anyone.” She let out a laugh. “And should she not? I did not raise her to be anything else.”

“I can’t tell if she is your daughter or your enemy.”

“Neither can she.”

“So what _are_ you then?”

“I am the fly on the ointment. I am a whisper in the shadows. A fragment of a whole, dust on the wind. I am also an old, old woman.”

“A… fragment?” Hawke felt completely lost.

The woman laughed. “You do not need to understand, child. Destiny awaits us both, dear girl. We have much to do.”

Hawke crossed her arms uncomfortably. This witch sounded more like she had plans – plans that would affect a great many people. But she had made a promise – the lives of her family in exchange for delivering her here. A life for a life.

The woman turned away, and cast a glance back at her. “But before I go, a word of advice?”

Hawke blinked in response.

“We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment... and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly.”

“Then,” Hawke said slowly. “What should I do?”

“Do as I do,” the woman said, her mouth curling into a smile. “Become a dragon.” She laughed at her own joke and added, “though you could never be a dragon. As for you, child,” she turned to Merrill, “step carefully. No path is darker than when your eyes are shut.”

“Ma serranas, Asha’bellanar,” the elf said quietly.

“And you,” Flemeth looked to Fenris. His eyes shot up to her but he held no emotion in his face. “The key is not to look back, but to look forward. Only then will your memories return.”

Hawke stared at the woman and then behind her to Fenris. _Is there something I am missing? Some way for his memories to return? But if I ask, he will question my motives – why I care…_ Her mind was buzzing with thoughts, all silenced when the witch again began to speak.

“Now the time has come for me to leave. You have my thanks, and my sympathy.” She looked into Hawke’s eyes with her last word, and she felt her heart sink into her stomach. _She doesn’t know how to do it._ A burst of light curled around the witch as she rose to an enormous size, her powerful wings flapping around her. She became a dragon, soaring off to the distant hills, leaving them staring blankly on the mountainside.

Varric’s voice shattered the silence. “What the _fuck_ was that?”

***

When they had all made it back to Kirkwall that evening, Hawke had dropped Merrill off at her new home in the Alienage before following the group over to the Hanged Man. Fenris was still mulling over the witch’s words as they walked. He watched Hawke’s long dark hair swing behind her as she walked. Her head was constantly turning toward Anders, though he could have sworn her eyes were flicking back to him. _Maybe I should just ask to speak with her_ , he thought.  

 Varric and Anders slipped into the Hanged Man, and Hawke followed slowly behind them.

“Hawke,” he said hoarsely. She turned around, her eyes locked on to his. He felt a small shudder in his chest.

“Yes?” she said, and then took in his expression. “What’s wrong?”  

“I…” he stopped. _What am I doing?_ “I was hoping we could talk. About today. What I said to you when we were attacked…”

She closed the door carefully and approached him. His mouth was dry as he tried to find the words. “It was inconsiderate of me to speak to you in that manner. I have known so many mages in my life – mages who only seek power and abuse it. I-erm,” he paused, trying not to lose his train of thought as she stared at him. “I apologize for what I said.”

Her eyes softened. “I understand, Fenris, and I forgive you. I don’t expect you to let go of the past completely. You…” she hesitated, the words clinging to the air. “You barely know me.” Her eyes lowered and she bit her lip. In the silver light of the moon, her skin almost glowed. Her large eyes looked up at him, the blue darkened almost to black. She was beautiful. Fenris’s throat bobbed.

“If it helps,” he said slowly. “I would like to get to know you.”

Her mouth lifted into a smile. “Then how would you like to join me for a drink?”

He smiled back. “I would enjoy that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry for the angst that is this chapter.


	14. Wicked Grace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some stronger language in this one.

The Hanged Man was alive. The smell of booze filled Fenris’s nostrils as he made his way across the wooden tavern floor. The group had claimed a round table in the back. Hawke let out a roar of laughter, and the elf couldn’t help but smile when she approached. He had spent the last several weeks with her, earning coin where they could and saving up for her expedition. But earlier she had rushed to his mansion to tell him the news – she finally had the maps and the coin to get Bartrand to finally relent. In seven days’ time, they would be off to the Deep Roads. But tonight they would celebrate.  

Hawke noticed him immediately. “You came!” She flashed a huge grin, her eyes sparkling.

“What did I miss?” he said as he pulled up a chair to the table beside her.

Fenris looked around the table. Merrill and Anders were looking through a large deck of cards, and Varric was apologizing to one of the barmaids. The woman looked rather uncomfortable.  

“Oh, nothing,” Varric said as the barmaid left, her cheeks red, “just apologizing _again_ for Daisy over here.” He motioned to Merrill.

“I didn’t _know_ that that’s what you say to a prostitute! I thought it was just a greeting!” Merrill’s face went red, and she hid her face in here hands.

Hawke was bent in half over her drink laughing.

“For future reference, it might _not_ be a good idea to repeat anything you heard in the Red Lantern district,” Varric chuckled.

Merrill pursed her lips.

“So, Varric,” Anders said suddenly. “Care to explain this game again before we play? I am so lost.”

“Ugh, Blondie you are just going to have to play through once and figure it out. That’s how the best players learn.” Anders frowned and placed the cards in front of Varric.

“What are we playing?” Fenris said as Varric shuffled the cards.

“Wicked Grace,” Hawke said. “You want to join us?”

Fenris pressed his lips together. Gambling was not usually something he did, much less wanted to do. But something about Hawke’s hopeful eyes made him sigh heavily.

“Count me in.”

“Excellent,” Varric said, dealing the cards out to everyone. Fenris picked up his hand – five cards. He knew a little bit about the game – he’d picked up a little bit while watching his master play every so often.

Anders stared carefully at his cards. “I think… I think I need another card.”

Merrill flipped her cards around and looked to Anders’s hand. “Oh yes. Of course, we could trade? You can have this card with the little swords if you give me the one with the snakes?”

“Merrill, you’re supposed to have cards that _match_ , not one of every kind!”

Varric rolled his eyes. “No one reveal your cards! Just try to get as many in one suit as possible until the Angel of Death card is drawn.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “We _just_ went over this,” he muttered. Hawke chuckled.

Fenris eyed his cards. He had one pair – the others were all from different suits. He discarded one and Varric passed him another card. He grimaced. _Not much better._

Hawke carefully laid down a card in front of her, and Varric dealt her a card as well. The sides of her mouth tugged upwards. Her eyes flicked up to catch Fenris looking, and she relaxed her face and leaned close to him.

“Are you trying to get me to give away something with my face?” Her mouth betrayed her with a wide smile.

He grinned and lowered his voice. “No, you’ve already done that yourself. You’re going to bluff.” 

She sat upright and put her hand to her chest. “Why _Fenris_ , I am hurt by your allegations! Varric, pass me another card. I think I’m going to win big tonight.”

The dwarf snickered and passed her a card. She sank back in her seat and took a swig of her drink, winking at him from behind her tankard. He grimaced and laid down another card. _She snuck a peak at my cards._ He would get her back for that. He drew a card.

_The Angel of Death. Damn._

“Alright, everyone lay down your hands!” Varric said, laying his own down in front of him. Fenris looked over at Hawke’s cards. She had won.

She giggled and took all of the coins in the center of the pile.

“Hawke, you better not be cheating again,” a woman’s voice said behind them. Fenris turned to see a tall woman will bright red hair in full armor staring down at them.

“Aveline!” Hawke yelped, jumping from her chair and covering the woman with a clearly unwanted hug. The woman, Aveline, patted her on the back slowly and wriggled free from Hawke’s grasp.

“Yes, yes, it’s good to see you too.” She sat Hawke in her chair and took the other seat beside Fenris. “So, catch me up. I’ve met Anders and Varric, of course. Who are the other two?”

“Merrill and L-Fenris,” Hawke stammered. “Or Daisy and Broody, according to Varric.”

Fenris frowned. _Was she that drunk that she almost forgot my name?_

“I see,” the woman nodded.

“What brings you to the Hanged Man?” Varric said, shuffling the cards together.

Aveline sighed. “The Viscount’s son has gone missing. He thinks it has something to do with the Qunari who have made their home here ever since their ship wrecked. I’ve been doing all I can with the investigation, but he’s begun hiring outside parties just to get a lick of information.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “I came here to ask for your help, but…”

Hawke slid a full tankard in her direction. “Drink first. We can talk about it tomorrow.”

Aveline nodded and took a long drink.

“Would anyone care for a rematch?” Varric said.

“Wicked Grace?” Aveline smirked. “I haven’t played in years.”

“Deal us in, Varric,” Hawke said with a mischievous grin.

Fenris grimaced. _She’s going to cheat again._

“Wait for me!” another voice said behind them. Fenris frowned. _How many people are coming to play cards?_ He looked up to see a scantily clad woman with dark amber skin and various piercings – including a familiar one below her lip. Her gold eyes glanced down to Fenris, and a curious smile came across her face.

He blinked. “Isabela?”

“Well, hello, stowaway. Tevinter still hasn’t caught up to you yet, has it?”

***

 _They know each other._ Hawke frowned. She definitely hadn’t anticipated that.

Hawke had met Isabela a few weeks prior at the tavern, and Hawke had agreed to help her “talk” with Hayder. They ended up getting ambushed twice before finally finding him – to which he met his untimely demise with the help of one of Isabela’s well-aimed daggers.

Hawke’s interest had been marginally swayed after that. Not enough to act on it, but enough to know that it was unlikely that many people could not be instantly attracted to the woman – even Fenris. Her voice alone was enough to make a person quiver. A small pang of jealousy poked at her, but she shoved it away. _Just like the rest of my feelings._ She sighed.   

“How did you two meet, then?” Isabela said, looking away from a dumbfounded Fenris to her.

“Chance encounter,” Hawke said quickly. “He hired me for a job. But apparently it’s a small world. How do you two know each other?”

“A small world, indeed. Fenny here tried to sneak onto my ship way back when he left Tevinter. I ended up staying in Kirkwall, despite my previous plans to sail off into the sunset.”

“My name is Fenris,” he said quietly, obviously not enjoying the casual nickname.

“Right,” Hawke replied to Isabela. “I remember you telling me about that.”

“So,” Isabela took the last empty seat. “Am I getting dealt in too? Or are you afraid that I’ll win?”

“We’re afraid you’ll _cheat_ ,” Varric chuckled. “But I’ll deal you in anyway, Rivaini.” 

***

After several more rounds of cards, Varric began telling stories – starting with a story about how Hawke took down fifteen bandits by herself and had the scar on her ribs to prove it.

“It was ten bandits, Varric,” Hawke laughed.

“And she left the fight with a lot more than a scar,” Anders noted, taking a sip of mead.

Fenris gripped his tankard harder. He knew that the abomination was a healer, but something about it made him almost… furious. Frowning, he relaxed and sat back in his chair to listen to the story. He shouldn’t feel like this, he knew. It wasn’t as if anything was happening between himself and Hawke. They were just friends. _Just friends._ He looked over to her, watching her face as she glared at Varric every time he mentioned something a little too far-fetched. Fenris slipped out of his chair and padded over to the bartender. Even if there were to be something between them – which was questionable considering the way the abomination looked at her – he needed to worry about the hunters on his trail. He hadn’t heard anything since the night he took the mansion, but he knew for a fact that Danarius wasn’t about to stop there to get him back.

He stood at the bar and looked back at the table where the group still sat. Hawke burst out into more laughter, and even the stoic Aveline was howling. He couldn’t afford to get attached. Not yet. He didn’t want to get close to anything he would be afraid to lose. But Hawke had been such a good friend – he was already afraid to lose that. 

“What’ll it be?” the bartender said gruffly.

“A bottle of whatever wine you have,” he said.

The bartender nodded and pulled out an emerald bottle. Fenris left several silver coins on the bar and returned to the table. Hawke was giggling fiercely, and almost rolling out of her seat.

“F-Fenris!” she hiccupped. “Do you not like ale or something?” She pointed to his bottle.

He shrugged. “I prefer wine.”

“He probably just can’t stomach the taste,” Anders laughed from across the table. “Too many rich drinks from Tevinter probably spoiled him rotten.”

Fenris glared at him. “Watch yourself, abomination.”

Anders’s eyes filled with rage, and he opened his mouth to speak.

“Now, now, you two, no brawls at the table,” Varric interjected. “We’re all just trying to have a drink in peace.”

Aveline shot a glance at Fenris. _She doesn’t care for him either, I see._   

***

Hawke followed Fenris to get more drinks. His slender arms rested against the bar as they waited to catch the bartender’s attention. His white hair was messily tossed in front of his face, and her eyes traced the outline of his angular jaw and the fullness of his lips. He glared at the bartender as he casually ignored them, and cast her an annoyed glance. She pursed her lips, a silent agreement, and sighed as she leaned over the counter.

He wasn’t the same as Leto – but only in the obvious ways. There was always a moment, a glance, a laugh, subtle details that would remind her so much of her childhood friend. She’d somehow come to prefer the white hair. She even liked the tattoos – however horrific their creation was.

Some part of her mourned her friend – but she knew that who Fenris was then was something he needed to be. He was bold, stubborn, guarded, ready to do what must be done in the name of justice, and survival. In a way, he wasn’t _that_ different from Anders. _He would bite my head off if I ever said that out loud, though,_ she chuckled to herself.

Fenris looked at her curiously. “Something funny?”

She blushed deeply. “Isabela will not be happy that I didn’t use my womanly wiles to get the bartender’s attention.” Fenris nodded in agreement. _Good save, I think._   

“You are far more modest of a woman.”

She sucked in a breath. _Was that a bad thing?_

“It’s not a bad thing,” he chuckled, as if reading her thoughts. “I prefer it.”

 _So Isabela isn’t really his type._ She would have been relieved at the thought if her head weren’t spinning.

“I mean – I assume most men prefer… though not all men…” He was stumbling precariously over his words. Hawke let out a laugh, and he blushed deeply.

“I understand what you mean,” she replied. He flashed her a guilty smile and stared forward, his cheeks still red.

Some part of her wanted to believe that he was flirting. But she didn’t want to get her hopes up – especially not with what she needed to tell him… eventually. If there were anything that would change his mind about her, it was that. But she didn’t have to tell him tonight, right?

“Oi you! Ferelden bitch!”

They both turned to see a bearded man stumbling up from his table. His friends were rolling their eyes as he staggered closer to her.

“Can I help you?” Hawke said with an annoyed sigh.

“Y-you come into our city, take our jobs and livelihood, sully our taverns, and give nothing back!” He took a swing at her, and she stepped back. She dodged another swing, her hands resting at her sides. “I used to have a job before you _dogs_ came. A _good_ job. Now I have nothing!”  

“We don’t need to fight,” she said. The man, now angrier than before, lunged again at her. She dodged his careless fists and swung her leg around, knocking him down. He grunted as he fell, and she leaned back against the bar.

He muttered a string of slurs before finally picking himself back up.

“Sit down, old man,” Fenris warned. “We don’t want any trouble.” Hawke met his eyes before turning back away from the man. _Just not worth it._ She could remember the night in the alley when she had let her anger get the better of her. She didn’t want him to see that part of her – not again. 

“Don’t tell me what to do in my own city, knife-ear! You’re lucky this cunt is protecting you,” the man said, spitting on the ground.

Hawke whirled around, her curled fist connecting with the man’s face. A satisfying crack resounded through his bones. He fell backward, crashing into several chairs, and the men at his table howled with laughter. There were soft claps coming from their own table, and Varric raised his goblet to her. When she turned back around, she found two drinks being shoved into her hands. The bartender looked at her with a grin.

“I hate that man. These two are on the house,” he said softly. She nodded with a small smile as the bartender walked away. Turning to look at Fenris, she held up the tankards victoriously.  

He just stared at her, his eyes wide with a small sense of awe.  

***

They all piled out of the Hanged Man, and Fenris shivered at the cool night air. Merrill wished Hawke a good night with a loud hiccup before disappearing down the road to the alienage. Aveline had long since left to return to the Viscount’s Keep, and Isabela was too busy telling Varric about her adventures on the high seas to even notice that it was nearly dawn. Which just left Hawke, the abomination, and himself.

“You will take me with you when you go to the Deep Roads?” Anders said to Hawke.

“I-I haven’t decided,” Hawke said slowly. It was clear she was trying not to sway as she stood beside them.

“You’ll need a healer,” the mage said softly. Fenris bristled at Anders’s intimate tone.

“Have you not been giving Hawke healing lessons?” Fenris chimed in, his voice dripping with more venom than he had intended.

Anders glared at him. “I’m _also_ a Grey Warden, and I know the Deep Roads.”

Fenris crossed his arms and scowled beneath his hair.

“I’ll let you know tomorrow,” Hawke said.

Anders nodded. Hawke let out a _hic_ before stumbling into Fenris. 

“Oof,” she said as he caught her. He stood her back up and she let out a small giggle.

“We should get you home,” Anders said, his voice uneasy as he looked at them with darkened eyes.

“I’m actually going to walk with Fenris,” Hawke said. “I need to tell him something.”

Anders bit his lip callously and dropped his hands to his side. “Are you sure that’s such a good idea? You can barely stand.”

“I will make sure she gets home safely,” Fenris said.

“You do know that I can take care of myself,” she said, crossing her arms.  

Anders sighed and turned to Fenris, his eyes wary.

“She will be _safe_ ,” Fenris growled, his eyes burning in the mage’s direction.

Anders’s jaw locked as he kept his head level with the elf’s. Finally he rolled his eyes and stalked off into the night. Fenris could have sworn his skin was beginning to glow with rage.

Fenris began to lead her down the street toward her uncle’s home.

“No,” Hawke said suddenly, catching his hand. She immediately pulled away. “I mean, I was thinking I could walk you back to your mansion. I need to tell you something important, and Gamlen isn’t exactly who I want to see right now.”

Fenris scanned her face. “Are you sure? You are rather intoxicated, Hawke.”

She bit her lip. “I’ll be fine.”  

“Very well,” he said. “There is an extra bed at the mansion that you can sleep on. Regardless of your recent feat with a drunken man, I’d rather you didn’t walk home this late by yourself.”

They walked through the streets of Lowtown without another word. Fenris didn’t want to push her to talk – but the pregnant silence was overwhelming. His mind was still swirling from the wine and cheap ale, the effect leaving a low buzz whirring in his ears. White noise to compliment Hawke’s ever-present silence left him worrying more about why she was waiting so long to say what she needed to. He fidgeted with his gloves – the armor felt so constricting. He began slowly stripping off the metal. The air on his skin was relaxing, despite the soft glow of the tattoos on his fingers. They were nearly to his mansion in Hightown when he finally broke the silence.

“So, what was it you wanted to tell me?”

Hawke stopped before they reached his door, and he turned to face her. Her eyes looked up into his – _unreadable_. Fenris frowned. _What was so important for her to tell me? Unless…_ She must have information on the hunters. He hid his growing nervousness. He did not feel like dealing with the hunters. Not tonight.

***

Hawke looked up at him. The words were burning in her throat, rising to her lips. But something in his eyes stuffed them back down. _Why can’t we just be Fenris and Hawke? Why must Leto and Marian’s past haunt me so?_ It was in that moment that she wished she could forget as he did. She didn’t want to remember her family’s suffering, or his. She wanted to light the past on fire, let it burn under crimson skies, and let the dead lie.

Stepping closer, she watched him stiffen ever so slightly – but relaxing almost instantaneously. As if he felt he could trust her. Not even Leto had fully trusted her.

But Fenris could.

His green eyes flicked down to her lips, then met her eyes. Warmth creeped up to her cheeks and sunk deep in her abdomen.  

“Hawke,” he said softly. His fingers reached for her face. She almost flinched as they grazed her skin, until she realized he’d taken off his armored gloves. She leaned into him, her inebriated brain on autopilot as the rest of her took over.

He smelled something like a mixture of trees and wine that seeped into her skin. Her breaths grew uneven, and all of her thoughts blurred as he looked down at her, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Pulling her closer, his lips crushed against hers. She let out a soft gasp. His hand found the small of her back and held her tightly against him. She slid her fingers into his hair, knitting the locks between her fingers. Their staggered breaths echoed as they stumbled into the mansion, not breaking apart for more than a few seconds. He pressed her against the wall, and she grabbed his sides. It was as if she couldn’t be close enough to him - and he seemed to feel the same way. His lips softened after a while, brushing gently against hers.

Finally he pulled away, a smile creeping across his lips.  

“You are very drunk, Hawke,” he murmured. “Perhaps we should slow down.”  

“Marian,” she said slowly.

He blinked.

“My name is Marian.”

His eyes darkened and he stepped back. She felt a horrible rush of cold across her skin. _Not again. All I did was tell him my name._

“Marian,” he said, his brows furrowing. Her heart quickened at the sound of him saying her name. “I… remember a Marian,” he said, frowning deeply.

Her heart stopped.


	15. The Air We Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait! Life got hectic. Here we go. :)

The air around them stilled, the silence filling her ears. There was a flash of something in his eyes. _Remembrance?_ Staring at her, she saw a strange realization filling his eyes.

If he remembered, she wasn’t sure how to have that conversation. Would he be angry? Would he understand why she never said anything? The last thing he needed was for her to cause him any more stress. But something inside her slipped out – couldn’t help asking…

“You remember something?” Marian breathed.

His eyes were dark and he shook his head, pulling himself away and facing away from her. Everything was cold around her. _Not again,_ she thought again.

He walked down the hallway, and she fell into step behind him. Fenris stopped in the middle of the main room, his body tense. Lingering in the doorway, she crossed her arms and watched as he lit several torches around the room, not meeting her eyes. He wandered into another room, and came back holding another bottle of wine. Fear flooded her thoughts. If he remembered her name, or if it even jogged a small bit of his memory, there was a chance he knew now that she had hid the information from him. She cast her eyes to the ground, questions dying at her lips.

“What do you remember?” she asked suddenly, her voice echoing throughout the room.

He stopped at the final torch, and slowly turned to face her. His eyes were darkened, frustrated. _Cold._ He stepped toward her and crossed his arms. “There was a flicker of something – from the day I was given the markings. I remember seeing my mother, the pain, Danarius’s face as he cast my mother out of the chamber… but mostly I remember my dreams from that day.” He rested against the wall beside her, his lips tightened into a thin line. “The pain was unimaginable.”

She held her breath. The truth was coming out, the words flooding her mouth. “You said you remember a Marian.”

“What of it?” he said, his voice sounding bored.

“Tell me what you remember,” she said roughly.

His mouth pressed into a hard line.

“Please,” she said. Her mouth was dry.

He sighed. Kneeling beside the fireplace, his arms rested on his knees. She approached him slowly, not wanting to scare him off any more than necessary. There was no way to tell if he would truly remember – but she felt hope filling her chest.

“I just remember flashes in my dreams. A woman was there – inside my mind when I received my markings. Whether it was an act of magic or simply my body’s response to the pain, I cannot be sure. She walked through my dreams, dulled the pain at least for a short while. The entire time I was lying unconscious, I saw only her… mixed with images of the sea. Amaranthine. It helped me hold on, kept me from breaking.” He looked up at her. “Her name was Marian.”

“How do you know?”

“I just did. I cannot explain it, not truly.” He sighed heavily and rose to his feet.    

 _Tell him,_ her mind screamed. _Tell him now._ She bit her lip, mulling through how she could say it. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest. _Tell him._

“I need…” he said suddenly, his voice breaking, “some time to think… about all of this. I-I’m sorry.”

Hawke pressed her lips together. _Too late._ He wasn’t running again, he just needed to consider it. She could live with that. Perhaps, if it came up again, she could tell him. “Take all the time you need.” She flashed him a smile as she turned for the door.

“Hawke, will you be alright?” he asked.

“I’m sober enough now,” she laughed, “I think I can manage a few gang members if I come across any.”

She stood in the doorway and stopped.

Fenris was beginning to remember. _This is a good thing_ , she reminded herself. _But I could help him – help him find his family, help him find himself._ Holding on to this secret for fear that he wouldn’t believe her, or worse – believe her and run away for fear of the pressure it would put him under, while also wanting every moment to tell him about their past was slowing eating her. But he didn’t truly trust her yet.

She looked back at him. He was watching her carefully, his eyes contemplative and confused. He needed her help with all of this. 

 _I don’t_ need _your help._ His snarl from that day on the shores of Amaranthine echoed through her mind. Even now, she could see her friend in this man. Even now, he stood there – independent and ready to take on the world all alone. But part of her knew that it was the last thing that he truly wanted. _Not that he would ever admit that._

She hesitated and opened her mouth, ready to spill the truth. Hawke would tell him everything – the moment she met him, their years of playing in the alleyways, how she had spoken to Magister Verres and she knew about his mother and sister. She would tell him about the shores of Amaranthine, their day in the sun…

Her throat closed. He had left her there, left the city without even so much as a goodbye – just because she had reached out to him. Too much, too soon.

Having someone tell you your life story was likely to have the same effect.

“Good night,” she said hoarsely.

He nodded and she slipped out, making her way quickly down the steps of Hightown.  

 _Selfish. That’s what that was. Completely and totally selfish._ She bit her lip. 

By the time she reached the small cot in Gamlen’s house, she could feel sleep curling up around her with the feeling of Fenris’s lips ghosting across her own. Guilt filled her chest, making it hard to breathe. The screaming silence was blaring in her ears, and she let her eyelids slide closed, happy to slip into dreaming.  

***

Aveline’s armor was clanging behind Hawke as she led the way up the stairs in the Viscount’s Keep. Their steps seemed to echo across the walls along with the chatter from the nobles and guards that were littered across the keep. Aveline had suggested that Hawke speak to Seneschal Bran about the Viscount’s son before they officially departed for the Deep Roads, and insisted to tag along for safe measure.  

As they reached the top of the stairs, they saw a small mercenary band speaking to the seneschal.

“Insist if you must, but Viscount Dumar will see no one. If you bring news of Saemus, I will let him know,” the redheaded seneschal said, his voice cold.

“Fine,” the mercenary leader said, crossing her arms. “Tell Dumar that my scouts have tracked the boy and his Qunari captor to the Wounded Coast. I’m taking a full company after them, and when I return, I expect a reward for our efforts.”

“That seems rather… excessive,” he said, his brows furrowing.

“I’m not about to leave anything to chance,” she snapped, turning her heel and storming off towards them. The woman stopped abruptly and took in Hawke, her face somehow getting angrier than it already was. “Get out of my bloody way,” she growled at Hawke, shoving her to the side. Her men – wearing the same red armor with gold trim – cast her an apologetic look as they followed behind their cantankerous leader.   

Seneschal Bran looked over at Hawke. He let out a sigh, his shoulders just barely slumping before he pulled them back and faced her. “Yes, what is it?” he said, annoyed.

“Seems I’m not the only one looking to help find the Viscount’s son,” she said, pursing her lips.

“Apparently not, though I am regretting letting the information out about the reward,” he said. “As I told the others, Saemus is missing and we suspect that he was likely taken by the Qunari.”

“So why not just send the city guard after him?”

“Because allowing the city to respond,” Aveline huffed beside her, “would mean admitting that the Qunari are a threat.”

“Yes,” Bran said quietly. “The city responding would fan the flames currently being ignited by Viscount Dumar’s opponents.”

“So the city would dissolve into chaos,” Hawke concluded.

“Exactly. Public embarrassment, at this point, is preferable to official embarrassment.”

“But there must be suspicions as to why the boy went missing.”

He frowned. “Why do you say that? What have you heard?”

“Nothing, until now,” Hawke said, raising an eyebrow.

The seneschal sighed. “Nothing is known except that he is gone and there have been sightings of a Qunari – specifically the Tal-Vashoth, Qunari rebels. The only complication is that Saemus is known to be… of a sympathetic mind. It is possible that he put himself into danger, but it is danger nonetheless.”

“The Qunari aren’t running wild throughout the city,” Hawke reasoned, “you could petition their leader to return him.”

“The Arishok has already declared that it is not his _role_ to do so. Apparently the Tal-Vashoth are hunted anyway. Killed for what they are, not what they have done. It does not bode well for Saemus.”

“What about the Winters? Aren’t they also after Saemus?”

“The Winters,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “are mercenary group out of Nevarra. They couldn’t care less about bringing Saemus back unharmed, so long as they are paid. Their leader, Serah Ginnis, is only after upward mobility in Kirkwall. Frankly we have enough of their kind.”

“We’ll need to be cautious of them,” Aveline murmured. “Rumor has it Ginnis doesn’t take too kindly to competition.”

Hawke tensed. “I understand. We will find Saemus and bring him home.”

“Declare all you like,” the seneschal laughed, “but the reward goes to whomever can bring him back _safe_ – a discussion you can have with the Winters, should you encounter them, on the Wounded Coast.” He bowed his head politely before slipping back toward the viscount’s office.

***

Waves crashed against the rocks along the Wounded Coast. The heat was sweltering, and Hawke could feel beads of sweat rolling down her neck. The wandered down a beaten path lined with rocks, scanning the shores for any sign of the Qunari. Aveline, Merrill, and Isabela were quietly talking to themselves in the back of the caravan, while Varric, Anders, and Fenris kept to the middle, not saying a word. There was no way to tell how many Qunari they would be facing, but they had all agreed to come along just in case. All except Carver – he was busy helping Gamlen fix the roof of their house. Hawke felt a little sorry for leaving him with their uncle, but she really didn’t want to worry about keeping him safe as well. Anders was their only experienced healer and he already had a big enough job with the group they had.

She bit her lip when Anders entered her mind. She’d meant to go to healing lessons that morning, but part of her just didn’t feel up for it – especially while she was getting everything ready to go to the Deep Roads. She would get in a lesson beforehand, but part of her was nervous about actually being skilled enough to be able to heal in the middle of battle. She’d tried it once and nearly disfigured Varric’s mangled hand.

She shuddered. _One day I’ll get better at it._

They wandered up a tall hill that oversaw the vast majority of the coast. Anders huffed behind her. She turned to see him bent over, covered in sweat.

“Could we take a break? I’m dying of heat stroke.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “Too bad your _mage_ robes make it so difficult to keep cool.”

The mage’s face snapped toward the elf. “Are you really out of so many insults that you now have to attack my wardrobe?”

Fenris shrugged. “Or perhaps you’re just bogged down by the _demon_ that has attached itself to you.”

“ _Spirit of Justice_ ,” Anders corrected. “Though I highly doubt your feeble mind could grasp the concept that anything of the arcane could even possibly be useful.”

“Magic has its uses.”

“Ah, so the elf _does_ have sense! I was beginning to…”

“You, however, are seriously lacking in that area.”

Anders glared at him. “Prick.”

“Abomination.”

“ _Ladies,_ ” Hawke snapped. “You’re both pretty. Pipe down so we can focus on finding Saemus.”

Aveline rolled her eyes from behind them, and Varric snickered. They both nodded and resorted to standing on either side of Hawke. A path broke off towards the shoreline, and Hawke caught a flash of grey skin marked with red. _Qunari._ She pressed her lips together. “There,” she said pointing. “We’ll need to be quiet on the way down. Think you two can manage?”

“I am always in control of myself,” Fenris nodded.

Anders rolled his eyes. “ _Yes_ , we will be fine.”

Hawke nodded and they quietly padded after her down the hill. Reaching the bottom, she peered over the ledge to see a group of Qunari warriors slipping down to the shoreline. They slipped inside a cave.

“There,” Hawke breathed. “That is where we will find him.”

“But look,” Aveline said softly. “There’s another group near the shore.”

Hawke bit her lip. “Should we split up?”

“And have less people to take them on?” Anders said.

“Or we could take them on one at a time,” Hawke sighed. “But he’s got to be in one of those two places. Plus with less people, both groups could easily spy on them and join the other group if there’s no sign of the boy.”

“You’re forgetting that they are skilled warriors and will likely sense us,” Fenris chimed in.

“Spent much time with the Qunari?” Anders scoffed.

Fenris glared at him and turned back to Hawke. Her breath caught. They hadn’t spoken much since the other night, but his eyes held a certain level of intimacy that caught her off guard. “We must be very careful,” he went on. “If the Winters are also after them, they likely know that there are people coming after Saemus. A small group may be fast and well-hidden, but it will do us no good if we are ambushed.”

“So we don’t get ambushed,” Merrill said. “Simple enough.”

Fenris grimaced.  

Hawke turned back to the shore. The group by the beach was partially hidden by several rocks but… a flash of motion caught her eye. _There’s the Winters._

“They’re here,” Hawke hissed. “They got here first.”  

“Let’s move quickly,” Aveline said, pulling herself up.

They moved down the path and towards the sea. Hawke could hear shouting over the clash of metal. A part of her felt a small rush – the heat of a fight often did that. She schooled the excited smile emerging on her face. The last thing she needed was for her newfound friends to think she was a lunatic. Looking over at Aveline, however, gave her a start. Aveline’s eyes were _bright_. She hadn’t seen that look on her face since… _Wesley._ She shivered. Maybe Aveline at least understood.

But she knew it must be different for a warrior. They didn’t have demons breathing down their neck every time they slept, or the constant worry that a Templar might notice them casting spells. Warriors could be so _free_.

They turned a corner around the rocks, and Hawke readied her staff for a fight. Suddenly her foot fell inside something sharp. She let out a small yelp as she crashed to the ground. She looked down and saw a smaller version of a bear trap clamped around her foot. A rope that was attached to the trap went taut, and began to pull. Grasping for something, anything, Hawke let out a shout to the rest of them as she was dragged into the darkness.

***

“They’ve got her!” Fenris barked, and without a second thought broke into a sprint toward the cave.

“Fenris, wait!” Aveline shouted after him, but it was too late. Fenris launched himself in the darkness, his mind swimming.

It was foolish, he knew. But he wasn’t about to let them kill her. _I must be mad_ , he said with gritted teeth. _This damned woman will be the end of me._ He ran down the tunnel that stretched below the cave, sliding several times on loose earth. But it wasn’t until he reached the end of the tunnel that he truly realized his foolishness.

A band of mercenaries stood at the ready, with several Qunari warriors dead at their feet.

 _This was a trap._  

***

Hawke kicked wildly as the mercenaries shoved her toward a cage. Her hands had been roughly cuffed behind her back and her mouth gagged.

“Stop wriggling, bitch,” one of them hissed, slapping her across the face. “Or there will be more where that came from.”

She shot him a hateful glare as he shoved her inside, locking the cage door. He walked away, joining the rest of the mercenaries at the entrance to their small encampment. She sighed heavily. The Qunari had seen them go into the cave – that’s why they went. These mercenaries were probably also after Saemus and were waiting for the Winters to fail. She cast a glance over at the men who had grabbed her.

“It’s so bloody hot,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“Then take off your damned jacket then, you fool,” another said.

The man peeled off his red jacket and sling it across a crate. Hawke stared at the jacket, her brows furrowing. _Where have I seen that before_?

Her eyes widened. These men _were_ the Winters.

As if on cue, another few men came running down the tunnel, holding another squirming body.

 _Fenris_.

She clenched her teeth against the gag as they pushed Fenris across the ground. He threw his body against one of them, staggering the man. The mercenary threw him to the ground and kicked him before grabbing him by the hair and standing him back up.

“Careful,” the other one said, “I think you’re frightening his friend.”

They all let out a laugh and proceeded to take turns beating him. Hawke’s eyes burned with rage and she tried desperately to squeeze her hands out of the cuffs. It was no use. Finally, as tears began to well in her eyes, she turned away. _I can’t give them the satisfaction._ When they were done at last, they picked up his bruised and bloodied body and shoved him into a cage beside hers. They had not only cuffed him and gagged him, but had also covered his eyes and had tied a thick rope around his legs.

He squirmed restlessly, groaning as he tried to rip off the cuffs. His tattoos glowed brightly, but it did nothing.  

“They both put up a good fight, I’ll admit,” one of the men chuckled from across the room.

Another man scoffed. “That mage almost burnt my face off, and the damn elf nearly killed me twice. Are you sure Ginnis wanted us to take them _alive?_ ”

“ _Shut up,”_ another man said. “They can hear you, you know.”

“Dead men tell no tales,” the man laughed gruffly. “And dead women, in this case.”

“She wants them alive for now, until we can sell them to the highest bidder.”

Fenris stopped squirming. Hawke cast a glance over to him. He was trembling… either from fear, or rage.

 _Curse this damn gag._ Hawke grimaced. Looking back over at Fenris, she saw the gleam of a tear rolling down his cheek. _He fought so hard for his freedom – only to be sold back into slavery._ Her skin boiled with anger. The damned Winters would have to get through her before they ever laid another finger on him, much less believed that he was a pound of flesh for them to sell.

_I just need to get out of these bindings._

Closing her eyes, she took in a deep breath, remembering the words that her father used to tell her. _Magic is a part of a mage. It is in our blood, our bones, the air we breathe._ There had to be something that she could do. Some way to get out. _There must be something._ And suddenly, she relaxed.  

She filled her lungs with air, and slowly letting herself breathe out. Nothing happened. Furrowing her brows, she concentrated harder. Breathing in again, she calmly let the air back out. The air from her lungs was hot, so hot that she could feel her skin burning softly. The pain made her pause, but she took another deep breath. She had to keep trying. Breathing out once more, the air was much, much hotter. The gag in her mouth gave off a small bit of smoke, and with the last puff of air she could muster, burst into flames. The cloth fell from her lips, embers still burning brightly within the fabric. The skin around her mouth felt slightly burnt, but it was manageable. She breathed into the burns and let her magic heal her. Edging over to the side of the cage, she lowered her voice to no more than a whisper.

“ _They will be no more than ash when we’re through with them_.”

His jaw locked and he nodded slowly.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is when I'm going to start (obviously) deviating a lot more from the canon plot. Up next is more tomfoolery and eventually the Deep Roads. :D


	16. Lost Boy

It had been several hours since they had trapped them. Hawke watched as the mercenaries sat around a table, drinking and playing a game of Wicked Grace. She counted around twenty men armed to the teeth. This would be much easier if I could get Fenris out, too, but that would leave me exposed for far too long. The weapons they carried were all daggers, save a few men, three who carried a greatsword, and two equipped with a bow and arrows.

All she had to do was take out the archers and stand far enough away from the rest of them. One blow from the greatsword and she could be down and out. She grimaced. _Simple enough._

One of the men wandered from the table and close to her cage. She lowered herself, hiding her face with her hair. The man hit the side of the cage abruptly. He began laughing as she jumped back. She brushed against something sharp… a piece of metal – presumably some kind of tool that had been jammed inside – was sticking out from the rocky wall and into her lower back, seemingly left by the miners who dug up the room in the first place.  

“No falling asleep now!”

The man meandered to Fenris’s cage and tapped on it.

“Leave that one alone,” another man said. “At least with the mage, her hands are tied. He has some kind of magical markings… don’t want to get him too fired up. He might explode.”

“Right,” the man said. He spat at Fenris’s feet. “Damned knife ears.”

“You know,” one of the mercenaries said suddenly, looking towards the cages. He had red hair and a scar that ran clear across his face. Hawke tilted her head away from them. “That knife ear really fits the description that man gave us the other day. You know, the mage from Tevinter?”

“He was a Magister, you ignorant swine,” another man barked. “Daniel-something. Danariel? Danarus?”

“Danarius,” the redhead laughed. “Who’s the ignorant swine now?”

“Whatever,” the other man grumbled. “Yeah, he does.”

“Think he’s the right elf?”

“Might be, though I thought slaves were more docile than him.”

“Maybe he likes them violent? Who knows. He offered a good price for him, though.”

“Think we could sneak it past Ginnis? Only share it among ourselves?”

“If we cross her, she’ll cut off our balls.”

Hawke couldn’t bring herself to look at Fenris. _If only I hadn’t taken this stupid job,_ she thought miserably. _We wouldn’t be in this mess. We’d be getting ready to go to the Deep Roads like I’d planned. That damned Viscount’s son can associate himself with whoever he likes, for all I care._

“What about the other one?”

“Isn’t she the smuggler? The mage from Ferelden?”

“Yeah, though I think Knight-Commander Meredith would pay us extra for bringing her a blood mage.”

“We don’t know that she even is a blood mage.”

“I think you’re failing to see the bigger picture here, Francis,” the redhead laughed. “She doesn’t know that either. But she’s so scared of it that any apostate we bring her would be considered a blood mage. That bitch will be hanging from the gallows and we’ll be already out of the city with pockets full of coin.”  

She clenched her teeth, a shiver of fire running along her skin.

***

 _Fasta vass._ The cage was infuriatingly small, and the mercenaries’ conversation didn’t make any of this better. When they got out, he was going to rip their throats open. Fenris tightened his fists. When he had entered the room with the mercenaries, he’d only caught a mere glance at Hawke. As far as he knew, she was bound almost as much as he was, save the rope around his legs and the bindings around his eyes. He hoped that she had more of a plan than he did. _No more than ash…_

His skin, which was already burning from the lyrium markings, was burning even more from the pain that the men had inflicted. He was no stranger to beatings – but something in the way they did it seemed more for a show to break Hawke, not him. He clenched his teeth.

A hiss came from the other cage, a clink of metal, a small gasp. Hawke let out a small hiss and then was quiet.

_What is she…?_

A second low hiss came from the cage. Another clink of metal. A small door creaking open…

“What the hell?” a man’s voice said before he let out a yelp.

A few other cries came from the room, and the sound of flames erupted. The clanking of metal followed by more fire and more cries. Fenris held his breath. 

“You crazy bitch!” another man yelped before he, too, let out a scream.

Suddenly the room was quiet. He jumped at the sound of a key jiggling open a lock, the creak of the cage door…

Gentle hands touched his face. He flinched but relaxed as he felt them curling around to the back of his head, untying the fabric around his eyes. He blinked at the blinding light to see Hawke’s face staring back at him, her large blue eyes burning bright beneath the cover of tears welling within her lids. She untied the bindings around his mouth and keyed open the cuffs around his wrists. He shoved off the rope and she helped him up out of the cage. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, causing his heart to leap within his chest. His arms relaxed and fell to her back, holding her in a loose embrace. She smelled faintly of lilac.

She hadn’t spoken to him about the other night – or about much of anything since. Part of him hurt for sending her away, but part of him was frustrated that she had acted as though she didn’t care. Perhaps the abomination caught her attention. He grimaced.  

“Careful,” he breathed.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, pulling away quickly.

“Don’t be,” he said with a tight smile. That smile dropped as he surveyed the room. “Hawke?”

“Yes?”

“Where are their bodies?”

Hawke bit her lip and looked at a pile of dirt on the ground beside them. No, not dirt. _Ash._

She had literally turned them into ash.

“It was either that,” she said, seeing the look of realization on his face, “or they would have sold me out to the Templars. Which I could have handled easily, but you would have gone back to Danarius. I couldn’t let that happen.”

Fenris looked back at her. She looked almost… ashamed. And afraid.   

“Come, the others may have been ambushed as well,” he said, grabbing up his greatsword from where the mercenaries had stashed it and handed Hawke her staff. “They will need our help.”

***

Wandering back up the dirt path, the silence made Hawke’s skin crawl. He had seemed so upset that she had saved him. Now, he said nothing. She shook her worries away, locking them in the back of her mind. I can’t let that get to me now. In fact, she had even bigger problems to face. The spells she used had weakened her greatly, and now she only hoped there weren’t many more mercenaries. Not before she reached Anders and the rest of the healing potions… the healing potions that had not been very effective. She imagined her father staring back at her, his eyes infuriated _. I taught you better than this._

But she had been desperate. 

The path opened into an old mining shaft, much like one they had passed before. _Or was it a different cave? Dammit, all these caves look the same._ She pursed her lips as they stopped where the trail split off.

“Which way?” Fenris asked.

“We could flip a coin and hope we don’t end up in a dragon’s lair,” she said with a laugh.

“ _Hawke_ ,” he growled.

“Well don’t look at me! How am I to know which way to go? I was too busy trying to get free from those mercenaries to notice my surroundings.”

Fenris sighed. “Let us try left, then.”

She nodded and they made their way down the left path.

“So… how did you manage to get out?” he said after a while.

She hesitated, chewing her lip. No matter what her answer was, he was only going think that she was foolish. She fidgeted with the sleeve of her robes. “I just used magic.” 

He pursed his lips. “Of course.” His voice was hard. Cold.

Hawke frowned. “Well, what would you have suggested?”

He shook his head. “Like I said earlier, magic has its uses. But I’ve seen many mages do unspeakable things for the sake of survival.”

“Fenris,” Hawke said, stopping.

He turned to look at her, his expression pained.

“Not every mage you meet is going to be a power-hungry Tevinter magister. Some of us, myself and Anders included…” Fenris scoffed at that. She crossed her arms and hardened her face. “… _Are not out for our own gain_ ,” she finished.

“I am aware of that, Marian,” he said softly. She shivered at the sound of her name. “I know that you would never…” He took a deep breath. “But I would just rather be cautious. You never know with magic.”

She touched his arm gently. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Fenris ran his fingers through his hair. “I know that you would never try to…”

She dropped her hand. “You’re never going to truly trust me, are you?”

“I didn’t say that,” he scowled.

“You don’t trust me to guard myself,” she said, gritting her teeth, “and you don’t trust Anders even though he has done nothing to earn your distrust.”

“Trusting that Abomination is foolish,” he growled.

“Maker’s breath, Fenris, you don’t make it easy for him to prove that he’s trustworthy when you are bashing mages every chance you get. I understand that you have a negative history with magic. But you forget that _I am a mage too…_ just as dangerous, and just as corruptible, as you say.”

“You think he means well, but you know that one day he is going to lose it,” he said, his voice building. “You are a fool if _you think for one second_ that he won’t pay any price for power. That demon is going to hurt a lot more people than even he can ever heal, mark my words. So forgive me if I don’t want you to be in that crossfire when it happens.”

Hawke bit her lip to the point where the skin almost broke. She was seething, and yet as even he was bristling with his own pent-up anger – he had never looked that attractive before. Passion burned in his eyes beneath his tousled white locks. It didn’t help very much that he had chosen to wear skintight armor that clung to his tanned and toned biceps.  

But – he was worried about her friendship with Anders? She knew he didn’t like Anders for being a mage and the fact that they more or less never got along, but the fact that it was more than that caught off guard. _Was he jealous?_

“Me?”

Color rose to his cheeks and he looked away. “I meant… us. All of us. Aveline, Varric… Never mind.”

His jaw locked and he turned away to continue on the path without another word. She closed her eyes. He was so infuriating.

***

They made their way up the tunnels without saying much else. The dust paths, though they all looked the same, seemed to be leading them somewhere.

Suddenly, Fenris stopped.

“Do you hear that?” he hissed.

Hawke listened carefully for a moment. There was nothing, and then… armor. The clanking of armor was echoing through the tunnels, headed straight for them. Fenris pulled the sword off of his back and readied himself as the sound grew closer. Hawke took a deep breath, readying her magic. The prickle of electricity danced across her skin and she stared at the other end of the tunnel.

A flash of metal came from the other side, followed by red hair. _Aveline._

A small company of guardsmen and Carver followed behind her as they began running down the mining corridor.

“There you are!” Carver said, not slowing until they had reached them. He pulled her into a suffocating hug – knocking the air out of her lungs. Well, that’s a twist.

“Hi Carver,” she gasped. “Good to see you too.”

He pulled away, his face already back to its usual scowl. “Are you alright? Did they hurt you?”

She sighed. “No, _Dad_ , I’m fine. Fenris could use some healing when we get back, though.”

Fenris folded his arms. “I’ll be fine.”

She pressed her lips together _. Better not push it at this point_. She turned back to her brother. “What of the other mercenaries? What of Saemus?”

“After you were dragged down and this one stupidly followed after you,” Aveline said, glaring at Fenris, “We were ambushed by the Qunari. We managed to push back enough to escape, so we went back to Kirkwall for reinforcements. Ginnis didn’t make it very far down the coast before she had to back down. I suspect she’ll be back with larger numbers tomorrow.”

“We could just go after him now,” Hawke replied.

“Are both of you able to do that?” Aveline said, placing her hands on her hips.

Hawke looked to Fenris. He gazed up at her from beneath his hair and simply nodded.

“Then let’s not waste any time.” The guardswoman motioned to her men and they all filed out.  

 

They reached the mouth of the cave, and Hawke squinted at the sun setting on the horizon. The coast seemed relatively calm, and not a Qunari was in sight. Anders, Merrill, and Varric were all resting against a large boulder. Their faces turned when they noticed the group emerging from the cage. Hawke met eyes with Anders, and his face morphed from a scowl to a bright smile.

He rushed from the rock to her. “Thank the Maker you’re alright,” he breathed. “There’s no blood on your robes, but are you hurt at all?” He picked up her arms separately and examined them. His hand touched her forearm and she gasped sharply, stepping away. Anders’ eyes flicked up to hers and he frowned.

“What happened down there?” he said to both her and Fenris.

“They bound us and put us in cages,” Fenris said. “Hawke got us out and turned those bastard mercenaries to ash.”

Anders was looking at her then, searching.

“We’re fine now,” she said, giving him a smile. Don’t say a word.

“You must be very powerful, Hawke,” Merrill said. “I’ve never heard of a mage being able to do that.”

Hawke shrugged. “Let’s focus on saving Saemus.”

They all started down the hill, weapons out and ready should there be another ambush. Anders grabbed Hawke’s arm and pulled her aside.

“What is it?” she hissed, ripping her arm back. The echo of his grip still stung her skin.

“You are alright, right?” he murmured. His amber eyes looked worriedly into her own. 

“I’m fine, Anders,” she said. “Let’s just go.” Turning away from him, she scurried down the path after everyone else, leaving him behind. 

***

The small road down was silent, which made Fenris nervous. He turned his head slightly, checking seeing Hawke in his peripheral version. The abomination had fallen to the back of the caravan, brooding. _Perhaps she actually listened to my argument,_ he thought. It was unlikely – they were both mages. Turning on one’s own kind was not exactly something Hawke would do. Not without good reason.

The path opened to a clearing. Men dressed in red armor surrounded the area. Aveline was wrong.

But their numbers were considerably lower than they would have been.

Ginnis stood in the center of the clearing beside a Qunari warrior and the boy who he presumed was Saemus. The boy had short black hair and wore simple leathers – an obvious change from the noble’s clothing he must normally wear. The mercenary leader drew her blade and thrust it into the Qunari’s abdomen. Saemus cried out and knelt down, holding the man against him.

“Ashaad… Y-you killed him!” Saemus cried out angrily, tears budding from his eyes.

“Yes, and now we can bring you home to your father.”

“Vashedan bitch!” he spat at her.

“Is that one of their words?” she laughed callously. “See, this is why it’s time to drag you home. You’re playing too nice with those things. I’ll wager you’ve gone even further than that. Haven’t you, brat?”

Saemus looked about ready to throttle her.

Hawke meandered right behind Ginnis, her men aiming their weapons at her. She let out a laugh. “Can’t play nice, can you, Ginnis?”

The mercenary leader whirled around. “I thought I had gotten rid of you. This here’s my bounty, bitch. I’ll not have you come here and take it all for yourself.”

Hawke examined her fingernails. “On the contrary, I think you will.”

“And why’s that?”

“You don’t have any backup. Not now, anyway.”

Ginnis stared at her. “You killed my men.”

“I was merely defending myself,” Hawke laughed, “and I can imagine that the Viscount won’t be pleased to hear that you do business with slavers.”

The woman gripped her blade tightly. She noted the city guard behind Aveline and looked to her men. “Then I suppose I’ll have to cut out your tongue.”

The next few seconds were a blur. Hawke launched herself away from Ginnis’ slashing blades and struck her with an ice glyph. Fenris moved into action and swung his blade at the woman, slamming her down against the dirt. Aveline’s men also moved quickly, taking down the archers and other mercenaries surrounding the area.

Anders pulled Saemus back away from the fighting and launching several healing spells, while Varric was shooting dozens of arrows into the sky.

Ginnis jumped forward and slashed her blades at Hawke, slicing her several times in the abdomen. Fenris let out a low growl and knocked the mercenary back again, flinging his blade to meet her legs. With Ginnis down, Hawke was able to cast a fire spell, burning her.

“Hawke!” he heard a voice calling from the other side. Anders was fighting off several mercenaries at once – and losing. Fenris saw Hawke spring across the way to him, the blade of her staff slicing open the necks of several mercenaries. Fenris looked back at Ginnis, who was definitely going to stay down. He joined Aveline and the other guardsmen, punching through the stragglers.

Finally, the dust settled. Saemus was safe.

Brushing herself off, Hawke walked over to the boy. “I’m sorry about your friend,” she said gently.

The boy grimaced. “There wasn’t much you could have done.”

“Let’s get you home,” she said, smiling.

The boy seemed discontent with that, but he knew it was the best option, lest more of his friends be murdered. _I know full well the pain that it brings,_ Fenris thought sadly.

The group set off for Kirkwall, leaving the Wounded Coast littered with the bodies of the Winters. 

***

Hawke licked her lips as she stood in front of Merrill’s house in the Kirkwall alienage. _This might actually be a bad idea – but it’s not like I can go to Anders for something like this._

The door open suddenly, and Merrill’s vallaslin wrinkled around her big moss-green eyes as she smiled brightly.

“Hawke! I wasn’t expecting you!”

“Yeah,” Hawke said, rubbing her forearm. It still hurts.

Merrill’s smile faded. “What’s the matter?”

“I have a couple questions…” Hawke said slowly.

Merrill tilted her head to the side. “What about?”

Hawke looked around, checking the perimeter, and stepped closer to Merrill.

“Blood magic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Some of the formatting didn't cross over so I fixed it. Technology is wonderful.


	17. The Deep Roads: Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally done! Also... please note archive warnings for this one. For both warnings. A little bit, anyway.
> 
> EDIT: Changed around some things that didn’t make sense. It's all better now.

_Everywhere was red. The sky above, the ground below. She was running – running from the oncoming storm. Her father ran beside her shouting something… she tried to make out the words but she could only hear her heartbeat pounding inside her head. The road ahead went on for more miles than her eyes could see. She looked back to Malcolm and watched as he collapsed to the ground. Templars emerged from the blackness, grabbing her father’s ankles as she rushed to his side to help him up. She pushed against them with an invisible pulse of magic. Nothing happened. One of the templars reached down and gripped her neck in his large hand, lifting her off the ground. Her nails dug into his gauntlets, turning bloody as she gripped tighter. She kicked him with her feet, but her efforts were fruitless. She looked over and watched as a templar drew his blade and plunged it downward through her father’s chest. Marian screamed._

_The templars suddenly disintegrated into ash._

_Falling to the ground, she scrambled over to her father’s broken body, sobbing as the life began to fade from him. Anders lessons had worked, almost too well. Now she could feel every inch of life ebbing away._

_The ground rumbled around her. A sloth demon broke through the earth and sat in front of her. Its black eyes stared into her._

_“He is dying – again,” it said._

_“I just want to heal him,” she sobbed. “I c-can’t…”_

_“I can give you that power,” it said, almost purring._

_She felt a tear slide down her cheek. The demon’s long finger reached over to her cheek and brushed the tear away. Looking down at her father, his face changed – morphed. Suddenly she was holding Carver wearing Templar armor. She blinked and stood up quickly._

_“No,” she said solemnly. “I won’t take your deal.”_

_The demon groaned, bored. She closed her eyes. Wake up, wake up, wake up…_

“Marian,” a voice said above her. She jolted awake. Carver was shaking her awake. Sitting up, she wiped the tears budding from her eyelids away. Her body was shaking, her skin clammy.  

“You were having another nightmare,” Carver said softly. Munchkin was sitting at the foot of her bed, whining. Hawke patted the bed and the mabari jumped up and licked her face.

“Thanks,” she said softly, her mind spinning. _I left myself vulnerable. I can’t let that happen again._ She looked at her brother – her callous, surly brother who one could, on occasion, see the compassion in his eyes. 

“I still have nightmares about Bethany,” Carver said softly. His eyes fell to his hands. Their mother had blamed Marian initially. But Hawke knew that Carver blamed himself more. He was a warrior, trained for battle. He was trained to fight everything from men to giant beasts, and he couldn’t save her.

Hawke reached for her brother and placed her hand on his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Her brother gave her a forced half-smile. He didn’t believe her. 

“So what was this one about? If you want to talk about it, that is,” he said.   

Marian leaned against the wall and let out a huff. “Oh, you know. Darkspawn chasing us down, a few dragons breathing fire, the occasional giant cheese wheel… just the usual.” She flashed him a wild grin and he rolled his eyes.

“Glad to see your humor is back.”

As Carver returned to his own bed, Hawke let her smile fade. She stared down at Munchkin, who had already taken up the whole cot. He looked up to her, a big slobbery mess, and nuzzled against her leg. She rubbed his giant face and lowered her legs off the side of the bed – she had already lost the will to even try to go back to sleep.

Pulling her leathers on over her still-quaking body, she strapped her staff to her back and headed out of her uncle’s home into the early morning air, her mabari trailing close behind. Tomorrow they would be officially headed off for the Deep Roads, and she still was unsure if she wanted to bring Carver. The last thing she wanted was for her dream to come to pass. If it did, she wasn’t sure if she could truly turn down an offer from any demon who claimed they could save his life.

The moon was slowly setting overhead, and the sky was brightening to a dull blue. Hawke wasn’t quite sure where she was going, only that her feet didn’t want to stop. Her light brown leather boots were barely scuffing the streets – it would be better to avoid gang members. Not that they would but up quite this early to attack a refugee from Lowtown. _You never know, though._

***

It had been nearly an hour and Hawke had set off, and the sun’s light was peaking over the horizon. The wind pushed through the buildings around her, a gentle whistle singing into the morning. She found herself strolling through the Docks, enjoying the silence both in the streets and inside her mind. Ever since she spoke to Merrill about the blood magic, she had let herself consider the good it might do – which only brought memories of her father warning her about blood magic and the steadily rising hum of demons whispering in her ear.

Banishing the sloth demon, for whatever reason, had silenced them all for the moment. She wanted to revel in the silence as much as she could, but soon she would have to find a different solution. _As soon as the sun rises, I’m going to go talk to Anders._ He was going to disapprove, of course. But something in her believed that he would understand her desperation, and hoped that her beliefs weren’t dead wrong.

Blood magic was dangerous, that much she knew. But it had saved her with the mercenaries when her normal pool of mana wouldn’t even be able to reach the level of power she was able to wield. Her fire spells had burned so much hotter, was so much more precise… she could still feel the invigorating rush of power flowing through her veins and spinning in waves around her, piercing through those who had wished to hurt her. It was as if there were no limits to what she could achieve – she could have leveled the whole mine if she had willed it. _Though that might have been an exaggeration,_ she chuckled.

Merrill had described it as something that people just misunderstood. It was a necessary thing at times, and a blood mage could cast complicated and difficult spells that would normally take an entire Circle. But the power came with a price. With the loss of blood came the loss of life force, and the loss of the effect of normal healing spells and potions. Some part of her could live with that – but another part of her was far too wary. _You could level a mining shaft but if you’re hurt in the process, it will be easier for others to strike you down._ It was a constant gamble, a game of Wicked Grace with higher stakes. A rush flooded through her, and she shivered. Some sick part of her was excited.

The disapproving eyes of her father flashed through her mind again. 

The best she could hope for was being very strict with herself. Avoiding it all together felt almost impossible – especially with the taste she’d had while in the mines with Fenris. She desperately hoped that Fenris would never find out. She bit her lip. _More secrets. When will it end?_ Though she imagined neither Varric nor Aveline would understand, much less condoned it. And she didn’t want to even imagine the look on Carver’s face if he knew. Her heart sank inside her chest.

She didn’t know how, but somehow she was walking down the path to Darktown. It was barely light out, but if there was any chance… she needed to speak to Anders. _I can at least knock_.

The stairs down towards the sewers beside the clinic wobbled precariously beneath her feet. Anders would be furious, she knew, and not as furious as Justice. _I still don’t understand how that works,_ she sighed. But Anders would understand her drive to help the people she cared about, no matter the cost. She just hoped that his years at the circle hadn’t made him completely against anyone who had ever practiced blood magic. His compassion was still there – maybe it was enough.

She reached the clinic door. The lantern was out, but… she lifted her hand, her limbs shaking as she gave the wood a soft rap.

Silence.

Sucking in a breath, she bit her lip and gave it another soft knock. _It’s definitely too early._ When the knock was only accompanied by more silence, she turned away from the door and towards the small space between the buildings that opened to the harbor. She leaned against the railing, taken in by the water lapping against the wood below her feet.

She imagined the myriad of different ways she could tell him and make him understand. But every argument she could muster – it wasn’t enough. No amount of logic could justify the use of blood magic. No amount of compassion could change its nature. It was a surefire way to being an _actual_ abomination. _And all so I can save the people I love_.

A soft creak came from behind her, and she turned to see Anders poking his head out of the door.

“Oh, Hawke, it’s you,” he said, grinning. “I thought it was the Templars.”

“I doubt the Templars would be knocking softly just in case you were asleep,” she chuckled.

“True,” he said, heaving a sigh. “You’re up incredibly early. What’s the occasion?”

“So are you,” Hawke laughed. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I was,” he said. “But I wake up around dawn. Better to make sure that the Templars don’t catch me by surprise. Plus I don’t usually sleep that well. Must be a Grey Warden taint thing.”

For the first time, she could see the bags that rested below his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Hawke said.

“It’s alright,” he shrugged. “Anyway, what brings you to Darktown? Aside from the rats and roaring nightlife, that is.”

Her face fell. _Right._ “I wanted to talk to you, about…” her voice hung in the air. Anders’ face hardened slightly.

“About the blood magic?”

She crossed her arms. “Look, I know what you’re going to say – it’s foolish and dangerous and no amount of power is worth risking everything. But I…”

“It _is_ foolish and dangerous,” he interjected, crossing his arms. “You put yourself at even greater risk for demonic possession, not to mention that you put an even bigger target on your head for the Knight-Commander.”

“I know,” she said, clenching her teeth. “But I also know that sometimes even with the power I have I am not enough to save the people I care about.”

“Hawke,” Anders said, his voice soothing. “I understand, probably more than anyone, how you feel. To give so much to the people you care about, even if the price is high. But this price…”

His amber eyes were piercing into her own. She looked away, afraid of the kindness that lay beneath.  

“I just worry,” he finished.  

Hawke rested against the railing again and relaxed her face. “I didn’t come to argue with you about it.”

“Then why did you come?” There was no ice in his voice – only compassion.

“The demons – their whisperings are getting worse. I’ve managed to push them away for now, but…”

“Making a deal with a demon is a very key part of blood magic,” Anders chuckled. “Which is _why_ it’s so dangerous.”

“But aren’t there benevolent spirits that could help me instead?” she said, eyeing him cautiously.

“Well, yes,” he said frowning. “But not many of them come out from the depths of the Fade long enough to have a conversation much less make a deal. Aside from Justice, that is.”

“So if I went into the Fade and made a deal with a spirit…”

“I’d imagine that it would be fine, though…” he paused, looking into space, “you would need to be careful not to twist the spirit from its purpose.”

Hawke cocked her head to the side. “Did Justice tell you that?”

“In a manner of speaking, I suppose.”

Hawke turned to face the harbor again.

“But you’d need to be careful going that deep into the Fade,” Anders said quietly. “And you would probably need someone to go with you. I’m not sure how I would do, but I have a feeling that Justice wouldn’t let me be swayed by demons as easily as Merrill.” He let out a soft chuckle.

Hawke bit her lip.

“So,” Anders said, “who are you expecting to take with you into the blighted Deep Roads? Varric and Carver I assume…”

“Not Carver.”

He frowned. “Why? Didn't he plan this expedition with you from the beginning?”

“Yes,” she said slowly. “But if we go together, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to protect him. And if I can’t, I could end up turning into an abomination just to protect him.”

Anders swallowed. “Good point.”

“I wanted to ask you, actually,” she said. “I can’t heal very well as it is – or at least nothing deeper than a flesh wound and minor bone breaks.”

“You should really come by for more lessons,” he said with a smirk.

She nodded. “But in the meantime, I need a healer.”

“I’ll go,” he said. “I had hoped to never go back to the Deep Roads, but I’ll do it for you.”

Hawke shivered. _This is breaching dangerous territory._ “Thank you, Anders,” she said, her back stiffening. “I’ll meet you at dawn tomorrow in Hightown. I suppose I don’t need to tell you how to prepare,” she laughed awkwardly.

He gave her a reserved smile and nodded. She said a brief goodbye and headed down the alley and out of Darktown.

***

The next day Varric and Anders followed her to Hightown to meet with Bartrand. She had sent Fenris a message, though she wasn’t sure if he would show up. Their spat in the mines hadn’t really opened up a reason for her to visit him… though she was equally as frustrated as he was. In truth, she hadn’t wanted to see him. But she needed a warrior and she couldn’t ask Aveline to leave her guardswoman duties, and Carver needed to stay.

She bit her lip nervously, the skin pinched bright red. Making her way up the steps to the Merchant’s Guild, her eyes darted around the courtyard – no patch of white hair in sight. Her heart sank. Shaking it away, she made a beeline for Bartrand who was fussing over supplies that another dwarf had brought him. _Bodahn, I think his name was._

“Good morning, brother,” Varric said as they approached.

“Varric! Hawke! Good thing you two are here. We almost left without you,” Bartrand chuckled.

Hawke raised an eyebrow.

“Er, not really,” Bartrand said gruffly. “Anyway, are you ready? It’s a long trek and we need to get moving. We’ll be gone a few weeks at best.”

Hawke eyed the entrance to the Merchant’s Guild. _He’s not coming._ Sighing, she flashed a smile to Bartrand. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s go.”     

Bartrand nodded and motioned for her to put her things in one of the carts.

 _I’m not sure I’m ready to take on Darkspawn again_ , she sighed as she hauled her bag over her shoulder. _I didn’t want to be put in the situation of needing to run for my life from those blighted creatures again, but here we are._ Regardless of her feelings, she knew it was what was best for her family.

A few weeks prior she had snuck into the Amell estate with Carver, looking for their grandfather’s will. Gamlen always seemed so against them seeing it – and when they had found it they discovered that the estate belonged to their mother. Never Gamlen.

Needless to say, their mother was livid, but she’d been writing so many letters and talking to so many nobles for the chance to petition the Viscount for rights to reclaim the estate that she had little time to yell at the man. She’d been through so much, and yet…

It wasn’t going to be enough.

Hawke strapped her things to one of the carts, pulling the strip of leather tight against everyone else’s. Various vials of potions and other health supplies jingled on the other side of the cart as a dwarf carefully pulled it off towards the others. _If it’s the least I can do, I’ll just…_

“So you were just going to leave without me?”

She turned to see the glaring eyes of her brother.

“Carver, so good of you to come,” she said with a smile.

“This isn’t time for one of your jokes, sister,” he said, scowling.

She sighed. “Carver, the Deep Roads are going to be so dangerous and…”

“I _know_ they’re dangerous, that’s why I’m coming with you.”

“No,” she said, a little too sharply.

“You can’t just _decide_ that you’re going to go off without me! This is _my_ life!”

“And what happens if I can’t save you?” she snapped. “What happens if I lose you just like I lost Bethany?”

Carver quieted, and his face relaxed. “That’s why we must stick together.”

She shook her head. “If you’re here, I know you’ll be safe. Aveline could help you find work as a city guard or something. But I need you here… and to watch over Mother.” Her hands were shaking.

Carver looked down at his feet. “And if something were to happen to you?”

“She’s got me,” a deep voice said suddenly beside them. Hawke looked up to see Fenris standing there, armored and ready. His green eyes looked into hers, a silent apology, before he turned to Carver. “Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to her.”

Carver nodded. _He always did trust Leto growing up._ “Fine. I hope you have a safe trip.” His words were hollow as he turned to leave the courtyard, and Hawke felt her stomach sink.

“I apologize for being late,” Fenris said.

“No need, we haven’t left yet. Obviously,” she said with a smile.

“I can see that. When _are_ we leaving?”

“Very soon,” she smiled, lining up with the others as Bartrand waved them over for a meeting before they began the journey. She saw Anders already in the crowd. He smiled warmly at her, but it faded as his eyes slipped to Fenris. _Well this will be a pleasant trip,_ she thought. _Let’s just hope they can get along long enough to get whatever we can from the Deep Roads and get out._

***

The caravan made its way to one of the hidden entrances to the Deep Roads. The wheels of the carts squeaked to a halt as Bartrand examined the maps. There was a large dwarven sculpture overhead in the shape of a dwarf holding a hammer high above its head, just above the door that would lead them deep underground.

“Just remember,” Anders said quietly, “there are things down there that mess with your head. I’m not sure if it’s the heat or the ancient air, but if you’re not careful you could end up losing your mind with no way out.”

“Are you sure that isn’t just a Grey Warden thing? Taint in your blood and all that?” she said with a chuckle.

He smirked. “No, it’s an everyone thing. I’ve heard plenty of stories from other people – Non-Wardens – about the effects it has on a person. None of it is good. Although… the taint does make it worse.”

“Will you be alright?” she asked.

He gave her a convincing smile. “I’ll be just fine.”

“Okay, I think I got it,” Bartrand said, pointing to the door. “I’ll need a few men to help me push this open.”

Several dwarves, Fenris, and a couple of the hired guards approached the door, pushing hard against the stone. Anders and Hawke used a bit of force magic to help it along, but the door wouldn’t budge.

“Are you sure this is an entrance, Warden?” Bartrand barked at Anders.

“Yes,” Anders said, rolling his eyes. “But I imagine it hasn’t been opened in years. Not many people know about this entrance aside from the Wardens, and in case you haven’t noticed, there aren’t many of us nowadays.”

Bartrand scoffed. “Well, we gotta keep trying. Come on, men, put your backs into it!”

Hawke bit her lip. _This wouldn’t be as hard if I could just use blood magic._

The men pushed harder, and she could even see a drop of sweat forming on Anders’ brow as he pushed harder. He glanced at her and frowned as she stepped behind on of the carts – out of sight of everyone. Pulling her blade from her baldric, she pulled her sleeve up to her elbow and made an incision across the skin. Pulling the blood from herself, she took a deep breath and returned to Anders’ side, pulling from the energy of her blood and using her force magic again. The stone scraped against the frame of the entrance, giving the men cause for excitement. They all began to push harder, and the stone door slowly opened. They felt a rush of hot air, old and musty – almost volcanic. They all cheered, and Hawke rolled down her sleeve, her face bright.

“You can’t do that too much,” Anders murmured.

“Why not when it helps?” Hawke breathed, still high on the exhilaration.

“Because,” he said in almost a hiss, “if they see you they will report you for blood magic.”

Her eyes shot to his. “I’ll be fine, Anders.”

He rolled his eyes. “Have it your way.” He stocked off to help pick up one of the carts.

Varric sauntered up to her, beaming. “You ready to go underground?”

“Ready as ever,” she laughed. “Let’s just hope we see the sky again.”

“Hopefully, you won’t come back scared you’re going to fall up into it,” he chuckled.

“Even if I do, I suppose there are worse things.”

“Don’t jinx it now. We’ve got a long road ahead of us.”

“Don’t worry so much, Varric. I’ll protect you,” she said with a wink.

He guffawed. “Where _would_ I be without you?”

“Probably sitting comfortably at home and bored out of your mind.”

“True.” He nodded towards the entrance. “The others are moving, let’s go.”

She smiled and followed him to the doorway, leaving her nervousness behind.

***

 The Deep Roads grew hotter the further they traveled, and even Hawke’s mage armor grew heavy as they traveled. The dwarves seemed fine, but many of the humans began stripping off their extra coats, keeping on only the necessary armor. Hawke pulled her hair back into a braid as they walked. _One day I’m going to cut all of this off_. Her hair was as thick as her father’s, and grew quickly – so if she ever did cut it, it would need to be incredibly short. Movement to the side of her caught her eye, and she jumped as she saw Fenris walking beside her. His eyes shot to hers and they brightened as he chuckled.

“Sorry, did I scare you?”

“Who, me? No, I’m never scared,” she said, straightening her tunic. Varric chuckled beside her.  

“Of course not,” he snickered.

“What brings you to this part of the caravan?” she said, schooling her face to look bored instead of giving in to her desire to stare into his eyes. _Merrill always says he has puppy dog eyes – though I never really see it. Maybe if I snuck a glance… no. I’m here for the expedition._ She pursed her lips.

“I was tired of listening to Anders talk about mage rights and the tyranny of Templars.”

“Ah, yes. Anders does like giving speeches about that.”

“Indeed so.”

“Well if it makes you feel better,” Varric chimed in, “at least you didn’t have to grow up with Bartrand. It’s not as easy to avoid your siblings, believe me, although it does make it easier to pull pranks. One time I took a bucket of day-old goat’s milk, a pile of rope, a sewer rat and…”

“Varric,” Bartrand barked from ahead.

Varric raised his hands. “I have done _absolutely_ nothing, I was merely telling a sweet tale of brotherly love.”

Bartrand muttered something under his breath. Varric shrugged at Hawke, who was giggling.

“What I wouldn’t give to see _that_ kind of look on the abomination’s face,” Fenris said, smirking.    

“You all know I _can_ hear you,” Anders called from behind them.

“We know,” Fenris said, smiling.     

The path had begun to narrow, and the air was getting thick. Several men coughed roughly, and others had taken to covering their faces with cloth. When they finally reached a large opening, they found a long road that stretched far down the cavern.

“And so it begins,” Varric said.

Bartrand waved them all forward, and the carts lurched ahead as the caravan moved.

“When we reach a relatively safe place, we’ll make camp,” Bartrand said to Varric and Hawke. “But I need your combat expertise to weed out any lingering Darkspawn in the area. We’ll have a rotation of guards but it’ll make their lives easier.”

“Why Bartrand, that’s halfway _decent_ of you,” Varric said.

“Shut up,” he growled. “I just don’t want to lose my guards before we even get to anything valuable.”

Varric scoffed. “Naturally.”

The road was wide, but Hawke already missed the open air as she felt the walls close in around them. There was an echo of skittering legs in the distance, and she shivered. _Spiders._ She could battle demons, darkspawn, ogres, and even a dragon didn’t feel like it would be too awful. _But spiders are terrible. That and bears. Luckily, wherever we go all we see are bear traps. Hopefully that never goes away._

Bartrand stopped at a smallish entrance that led to an enclosed cavern in the giant stone walls. Lighting a torch, he poked his head inside and motioned for Hawke and Varric to follow. Bringing their own torches, they followed him inside. It seemed like a decent place to camp until…

Something screeched in the darkness, and a group of giant spiders scurried towards them.

“ _Spiders!”_ Hawke shouted, pulling out of the room quickly. Hurrying away from the entrance, they hauled back to the caravan and motioned to keep moving.

“Definitely not worth it,” Varric said to the guards who were eyeing them surreptitiously.

Fenris frowned at Hawke who shrugged. “I don’t do spiders.”

He chuckled.

Hawke loved making him laugh long enough to get rid of the ever-present scowl on his face. It felt so rare… and it was special every time. She smiled at him, though he didn’t seem to notice. Varric elbowed her gently and raised an eyebrow as he fell back into step with them. He was convinced that telling Fenris the truth would be hard, but the sooner she told him, the better. It surprised her, really, by him saying that. Varric was a storyteller – he spun the truth as often as he could get away with. _Except with his friends and the people he cares about_ , she thought. _There’s a special exception for them._ His eyes were still on her, sympathetic and caring. The look in his eyes almost said, _tonight is your chance._

She wasn’t so certain about that.

They decided to camp after finding a small nook along the road that was nestled between two large stone walls and a drop-off that overlooked the lava flowing below. It wasn’t as warm on the other side of the cavern, where they all set up to camp for the night.  

Soon there were three campfires around their campsite that were burning as pots of some kind of stew were cooking over each. Bartrand and the other dwarves aside from Varric sat around one fire far away from Hawke and her friends’ respective tents, no doubt to be away from his brother. There were about ten men – the other guards Bartrand had hired – on the other side of the cavern, the farthest away from the drop-off, and they were no doubt already all very good friends.

Fenris was busy stirring their own small pot of stew when Hawke finally sat down beside them.

“Fenris, somehow I didn’t see you as much of a cook,” Varric laughed as the elf poured him a bowl and handed it to him. Varric took a sip. “And it’s actually decent.”

The sides of Fenris’ lips tugged. “Of course I know how to cook. Who do you think prepared most of Danarius’ meals?”

“Ah,” the dwarf said suddenly. “Right. Sorry.”

“No need to be sorry,” Fenris replied, handing a bowl to Hawke. He had taken off his gloves again. Hawke tried to still her pounding heart as his rough fingers brushed against her own. He was only wearing a simple tunic and leggings again, with the normal foot wraps tied tightly around his feet, only revealing his toes and heels. The tunic he wore fell well below his collarbone, revealing tattoos that stretched down his chest. His eyes flicked up to hers for a mere moment before he turned away as she blushed fiercely. _I wish he would just decide already,_ she thought before realizing how selfish the thought was. She felt utterly pathetic. He needed time – and however long that was, she was willing to wait. _But whether I wait begrudgingly or not is my affair._     

“So I suppose this would be around the time when Grey Wardens would tell stories about Darkspawn they encountered, right Blondie?” Varric said to Anders.

Anders scoffed. “Right. I suppose that’s what they did – though it was senior officers sharing the glory days of Grey Wardens, tales that they heard from past Grey Wardens who fought in battles long ago. I did hear some great tales from a friend back in Amaranthine – her being the Hero of Ferelden and all that.”

They all stared at him.

“Wait,” Hawke laughed. “You mean to tell me that you were actually _friends_ with the Hero of Ferelden?”

He shrugged.

“And you’re not even going to tell any stories?” Varric says.

“Not much to tell. We saved some people, brought down Darkspawn, trained more Wardens, they made me get rid of my cat. It’s not really much of a story.”

Varric scoffed. “Maybe not to you.” The dwarf turned to Hawke and Fenris. “Do either of you have any good stories?”

“Stories you’ll no doubt use for inspiration for a novel you’ve yet to write?” Hawke smirks.

Varric clutched his chest. “I’m wounded that you think I would only want to hear your stories just to get inspiration.”

“No, you’d use every detail and twist it out of proportion,” Fenris laughed.

Varric winked at Hawke and she shook her head. _Insufferable dwarf._

“You could always tell us the story of how you killed the ogre, Hawke,” Varric said. “I can’t even imagine what you must have been thinking.”

“Well, for the first few seconds I thought, _‘Maker what do they feed those things?’”_

Varric laughed. “I hardly know anyone who’s even seen one, much less kill it.”

Hawke took a large bite of meat. “You know, they’re really not that bad.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “And yet you’re afraid of spiders?”

“Hey,” Hawke said, pointing her spoon at him, “at least ogres can’t spin you into a paralyzing web of death before eating you alive. They at least have the decency to face you head-on.”

 “Spiders also don’t usually make for great stories,” Varric said. “So, tell us about the ogre.”

Hawke opened her mouth to speak and stopped. Flashes of Bethany running at the ogre filled her mind, and her throat closed up. She sat there for several seconds, willing the memories to bury themselves back in the depths of her mind. She closed her mouth and stared down at her bowl. “Actually, I’d rather not. Not tonight, anyway. Maybe some other time.”

“Sure,” Varric said, his tone softening. Some part of her hoped he understood why. She hadn’t talked to him much about Bethany’s death – only that it had happened on the way to Kirkwall. The other two were staring at her for a moment before returning their eyes to their food. _Maybe some other time I’ll learn how to not fall apart every time I think about it._

When they were finished, they put out the fires, readying themselves for the evening to come. Hawke returned to her tent, her legs aching from the journey and her head pounding. _I really need to get more sleep._

“By the way, Hawke,” Bartrand said behind her as she straightened her tent, “if you don’t mind I have you down for the late shift for guard rotation. Each shift is about four hours so you’d better get some shut eye now if you want a full night’s rest.”

She nodded and sighed before laying back on her bedroll. _Controlling bastard. I’ll sleep when I damn well feel like it._ But the tiredness hit her instantly, and her eyes fell shut as the quiet chatter of the men outside talking lulled her to sleep.   

***

_Marian twirled her staff and threw fire and lightning in the ogre’s direction, weakening it by a small margin. Looking over, she saw Bethany give out a war cry and run at the beast._

_“No!” she shouted, running after her sister. “He’ll kill you!”_

_She called out something as she ran, casting a storm spell over the ogre._

_She misfired._

_The ogre grabbed her with his giant hand and squeezed. Through blurred vision, Marian saw her back crack, blood leaking from the open fractures along her little sister’s body._

_The ogre’s roars echoed as she cut the beast down, and Marian scrambled to her sister and pulled her close._

_“Mare,” Bethany croaked. “Mare, it hurts. Please, save me. I’m scared.”_

_“Just hang tight, Beth,” Marian held her hands over the wounds. They were numerous… deep._

_She had practiced the spell with Anders so many times. So many times, and she couldn’t remember how to do it. She scraped through her memories, remembering how to fix fractures and internal bleeding. Her memories yielded nothing. Everything was dark around her – Bethany’s body was fading in her arms… her sister’s breathing stopped and suddenly Marian was holding a pile of bones and dust in her arms._

_No, no, no… I can go back, I can try again… Please, Maker, let me try again…_

“Serah,” a man said outside her tent. “Serah Hawke, it’s time for your rotation.” Her eyes flew open, stinging. She wiped the tears from the sides of her eyes. She felt so hollow.

Rubbing her face she pulled herself out and into the volcanic cavern. The man who woke her nodded, tired, and returned to his own tent. _Uneventful night, I take it._  

Pulling up her staff, she walked lazily over to the other side of the cavern that looked over the lava. She shivered from the sweat still covering her body and sat against the rocky entrance, resting her head against the ancient wall.

“Would you mind if I joined you?” Fenris said a few feet away.

She gave him a small smile and nodded. He sat beside her against the wall.

“Aren’t you tired?” Hawke asked.

“Yes,” he said. “But my nightmares tonight were particularly bad.”

Hawke swallowed. “We’re in the same boat on that.”

Fenris looked at her, his eyes saddening. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “Do you want to talk about yours?”

“Not particularly. You?”

“Not particularly,” she echoed.

“I… heard you stirring in your sleep. I wanted to wake you but I wasn’t sure if I should…” he said slowly.

“You’re free to,” Hawke smiled. “Waking up is better than enduring the same dreams every night.”

He gave her a half smile. They fell into silence, and Hawke’s eyes burned slightly as she stared down at the lava. She wanted to tell him about Bethany, even if he didn’t remember her. A part of her heart broke knowing that he didn’t know that they all used to be good friends. Another part of her was glad he didn’t, so he wouldn’t endure the pain. But she had a feeling he might understand…

“I dreamt of my sister,” she said suddenly. “And how she died. We were on the road to Kirkwall with Aveline and her husband. There was an ogre…” her voice was breaking as she spoke the words. Breathing deeply, she let it all fall out. “She tried to attack it, but it grabbed her. And then… then it…”

Fenris touched her shoulder. She sighed deeply.

“It killed her. And I couldn’t do anything. I’ve never been a good healer, you see. I can heal simple wounds, but it was just so complex. Yet I’m a mage, she was dying in my arms, I had the power at my fingertips, and I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t do anything.” A hot tear trailed down her cheek. “It’s been nearly two years since her death and it’s like it happened just yesterday. Every night I dream of her, or my father. Templars killed him… and I couldn’t do anything for either of them. I just feel so… so… _weak_.”

“Hawke,” Fenris murmured as he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. She swallowed a sob and took several deep breaths. He gently kissed the top of her head and stroked her arm, his rough fingers somehow gentle against her skin. “It isn’t your fault.”

She bit her lip and pulled away from him. “I know, I just…” she sucked in a breath. “I’ll be fine. It’s just hard when these nightmares keep coming.”

“Mine are the same,” he said softly. “Though it’s mostly revolving around my days as a slave.”

“That’s awful,” she said.

He shrugged. “Maybe one day these nightmares will stop haunting us both.”

“Maker I hope so. Otherwise I may never get a good night’s rest again,” she said with a forced laugh.

“Perhaps you need a distraction,” Fenris replied, his face turned towards hers. “To… lighten the mood before you sleep, I mean.”   

 _Is he_ flirting _with me? Now of all times?_ Though the corners of her mouth tugging upwards involuntarily made her realize that she couldn’t really complain. “Perhaps.” _Maker, he’s so close._

And she swore he was only getting closer. She needed to remind herself to breathe.

“I never apologized for what happened down in the mines,” he said quietly. “I should remember that you are not a Tevinter magister.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry,” Hawke said. “You have every right to be cautious.”

“And you have every right to defend your choices, and your friends,” he sighed.

She found herself taking his hand in hers and squeezing it tightly. “You are my friend, Fenris. I want to protect you, too. Anders has his… moments, I will admit. I don’t always trust him, either. But I shouldn’t have yelled at you the way I did. You made it clear that you are just looking out for us, and I appreciate that.”

His eyes examined her hand in his, and his fingers tightened. “We never really discussed the other night.”

“You needed time,” she said, her voice just above a whisper.

His face lifted to hers, his eyes deepening. “I don’t need any more time. After what happened in the mines, when I thought I was going to lose you…” Her heart quickened. “I don’t want to lose you.”

She chuckled. “It’s going to take a lot more than a band of mercenaries to take me away from you. Although,” she tapped her chin with a single finger. “You might if I’m ambushed by a horde of mabari pups. It’s been said that their adorably large eyes will melt a person’s heart from a mile away.”

“Hawke,” he growled.

“No really, when Munchkin was only a few…” suddenly his hand was gliding along her jaw, and the words died on her lips. His rough fingers sent shivers down her spine as he moved closer. His lips brushed hers and she could feel his warm breath on her skin – a silent question to let him continue. He watched her carefully as he waited for her permission, to which she nodded ever so slightly.

Lips crashed against hers, his hot tongue licking against her lips as she opened them. His hands were everywhere, over the small of her back and cupping the back of her head. They slowly fell back against the rock wall together, and she let her hands slip up to his abdomen, wrapping him close. Her fingers grazed the hot skin peeking from beneath his shirt.

She bit his lip, and he gave her a low growl as the kiss grew more fervent. His fingers grasped at the thin tunic she wore, nearly ripping the fabric. She pulled away briefly to graze her teeth against his skin from the base of his neck up to his earlobe, grinning at the low moan growing in his throat. He claimed her lips once more, pressing her body to his.

“Wait,” he said, suddenly pulling away, his lips bright red.

Hawke stared at him, her heart panicking inside her chest. He sat up and pulled them both to stand. Fenris pulled her to the other side of the wall, where they were no longer visible to the camp. He pushed her against the wall and claimed her lips again, swallowing her soft gasp. She could feel his hard length against her, and a white-hot fire burned deep within her abdomen. He ground against her, and she pushed back against him. He pulled her legs up around him, grinding harder as she let out a moan. His teeth bit the skin of her shoulder, and she shuddered, moving her hips harder against his own. She dragged her fingers along his shoulders and up to his hairline, grabbing a handful of hair as she pulled his lips back to hers. He groaned as she grasped at his sides, pulling her fingers along his skin.

“Aren’t we supposed to be on duty?” she breathed as he bit at her neck again.

He let out a groan that was meant to be a response. Suddenly he was slowing, and lowering her to the ground. He pressed his lips against hers again. This kiss was slow, careful. His fingers were touching her face again, thumb brushing her cheekbone. “I’m sorry,” he chuckled. His cheeks were flushed and the skin around his lips was still reddened. “I shouldn’t have distracted you from your duty.”

“No, please,” Hawke smiled. “I’m definitely happy to be distracted like this.”

He smiled, his eyes deep and hooded with desire. He kissed her forehead. “Come, we can resume our conversation of Mabari pups.”

Hawke laughed, still feeling lightheaded as he took her hand and pulled them back to the other side of the wall. Her heart had lifted immeasurably, and she clutched her hand tighter around his.   

***

“We are never going to get around this!” Bartrand shouted at the magmatic river below. “The maps didn’t account for a sodding rockslide!” He shot a glare at Anders, who raised an eyebrow.

“Just because I’m a Grey Warden doesn’t mean I control rocks,” the mage said.

Bartrand growled at the scout who had returned with the information. “And you didn’t find _any_ way around?”

“Not that I’ve been able to find. The side passages are too dangerous, you see…” Bartrand’s fist went flying and crashed into the other dwarf, knocking him off his feet.

“Useless!” he spat. “What am I paying you blighters for?”

“We can go look for another path,” Varric said. “It is the only logical choice.”  

“I know that! You think I’m an idiot, Varric? I’ve already sent out my scouts,” his brother growled, grasping at his beard in irritation. “They’ve come back with nothing. Useless sons of nugs…”  

“Lucky for you, we’re not scouts,” Hawke said with a smile.

“True enough,” Bartrand said. “Fine. And hurry back. I don’t want to stay down here any longer than we have to.”

“This is why I left the Wardens,” Anders said, rubbing his forehead. “I hate the blight Deep Roads.”

“We’ll, might as well get moving,” Hawke sighed.

They had been traveling for nearly two weeks. Bartrand kept giving Hawke the late shifts, which she partly appreciated because it usually woke her up from the nightmares – though now Fenris had taken to waking her before her shift. _Granted, he usually gets at least a good ten minutes with me before the previous shift actually comes to wake me up, so it’s not entirely for selfless reasons._ She chuckled to herself. She glanced at Fenris, who was pulling his sword across his back. His eyes warmed as they met hers, and her heart fluttered.

“Messere!” a voice said behind her. The dwarf named Bodahn ran towards her. “Please, my boy, Sandal, has gone missing. Could you… could you find him? Or at least keep an eye out? He doesn’t understand danger like he should. The thought that he’s out there wandering alone…”

“We’ll look for him, Bodahn,” Hawke said, “and bring him back if we can.”

The dwarf sighed. “Thank you, messere.” He fidgeted with his fingers nervously.

***

The passages were, of course, filled with Darkspawn. Hawke gave a shout as they approached, singeing each with her fire, weakening them as Fenris flew at them with his greatsword, cutting them down. She threw an ice glyph beneath several of them, sending them flying as it exploded, shards of ice shooting after them.

Varric shot several in a row, laughing as each went down. “Score _five_ for me! How many do you have, Hawke?”

She smirked as she laid out to fire glyphs and used her force magic to press them to the ground, turning them to ‘spawn chunks. “I’d say about eight or nine!”

He scoffed. “Overachiever.”

“Jealous much?”

She struck another two with ice as he shot them down, and they circle the area, waiting for more. When none came, they continued down the path.

“Apparently I need to step up my game,” Varric chuckled.

“Maybe we just need to enchant Bianca with a rune to make her shoot faster,” Hawke said with a wink.

The dwarf stared at her in horror before looking back at his crossbow. “Bianca, she didn’t mean that. You’re perfect just the way you are.”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “Oh, get a room, you two.”

He winked at her and they set off down another passage.

Hawke slipped beside Anders, who was being unusually quiet. “Cat got your tongue?” she said with a smile. “You’ve been quiet back here.”

“Yes,” he said, not looking down at her. “I guess I’ve just been a little tired. My internal clock has been… off.”

She nodded. “Maybe you could make a sleeping draft?”

He shrugged. “We’d need to find the ingredients for it – and I highly doubt there are any down here, unless there are some Darkspawn who get nightmares at night.”

“What do you imagine they would dream about?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Though anything good-natured might scare them.”

“Kittens perhaps?”

“Maybe.” His tone was cold, and Hawke grimaced.

The ground rumbled beneath them suddenly, stray rocks from the ceiling falling down over them. Anders threw a shield over them until the shakes stopped, and several golems emerged from the other side of the wide passage. They growled… _If a golem_ can _growl…_ and ran at the group.

Fenris flung himself between them, only to be shot back with a mighty rock fist.

“Fenris!” Hawke shouted, flinging fire at the golems. She knocked one of them down and pulled Fenris back to his feet. She healed him quickly before flinging another ball of fire, and a mind blast sending them flying. She stumbled back, her body tiring from all of the spells.

“Hawke!” Anders called, tossing a lyrium potion to her. She caught it and drank before sending down a firestorm upon the golems. Fenris dodged several hits, his sword clanking against the stone. Even Varric’s arrows barely scratched the surface.

An ogre appeared from behind them. Its graying skin was covered in barely a loin cloth, and it roared at the group. It rose up and knocked Varric and Anders back, knocking them both unconscious. It turned to Fenris, whose lyrium markings glowed fiercely. He gave a loud war cry before running at the ogre. Blood was blooming from beneath his armor, and he was barely running. Flashes of Bethany echoed in Hawke’s mind. Fenris was weakened, and one more serious hit could…

The creature knocked Fenris back. The elf wiped the blood from his face, stumbling as he circled the beast. It let out another mighty roar, readying to charge.

Her hand was on her blade, slitting her arm wide open. _Wait,_ a voice was saying in her mind, but she ignored it. The blood poured and she felt the power surge around her, filling her body and soul. Her eyes were filmed with red as she gave out a cry, sending a surge of magic through the very fabric of space in the room, reaching through and pulling apart the ogre, tossing its bloodied limbs into the lava below.

A scuffle of more stone feet came from behind her and she whipped around. She crushed one of the golems and sent the others flying off, their bodies crashing against the stone walls.

The power was… overwhelming. Part of her, inside, was screaming. _Too much this time. Too much. You didn’t need so much._  

_Hawke!_

The walls around her were moving. Golems crashed around them, and she flung them over the side of the cliff.

_Hawke!_

The blood swirled, taking her deeper into herself, locking her away…

“Marian!”

She fell back into Fenris’ arms, her aching body screaming at the impact.

“Hm?” she replied, looking into his eyes.

_"What have you done?"_

The red film had faded to a deep emerald. And then everything went black.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Part Two will be finished shortly. :)


	18. The Deep Roads: Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added a little something at the end of the previous chapter so this one makes a bit more sense, so if you want to look at it before, just skip to the last few lines of the previous chapter and start there. Thanks so much for your patience with this!

_“Marian,” a voice whispered. “What have you done?”_

_She was scraping at the surface, trying to pull herself up from unconsciousness. The demons were swarming, calling her name. She needed to get away, quickly. The voices above were getting louder, pulling her up…_

_“Let me look at her wounds!” a voice shouted from above._

_“Would you_ desist _abomination!” the first voice spat._

_“Do you want her to die?”_

_The first voice growled._

_“Will you two stop being petty sons of nugs and get to the part where somebody helps her?” a third voice yelled._

_“Fine,” the second voice said._

A warmth filled her lungs and stretched down her abdomen, flowing through to her limbs. The numbness was wearing off, bringing the burning nerves back to life. Warm arms wrapped around her.

“Marian,” Fenris breathed, his fingers brushing her cheeks. “Please tell me you’re alright.” 

She squinted as she opened her eyes, the light stinging. Her arm screamed with pain as she tried to shift upwards. She winced slightly.

“Hold on, I’m not finished,” Anders said quietly. She watched his worried amber eyes scanning her carefully, trying not to miss a single injury. His eyes flicked to hers as he cautiously rested his hand on her arm, healing the laceration without bringing attention to it. She wasn’t sure if Fenris had seen anything, but if he had, she was guessing he would no longer be there. There was a sinking feeling in her stomach as she imagined the disgust twisting his features. She had been reckless – but his life was on the line. Unfortunately, he would never see it that way.

She would thank Anders for his discretion later. Though part of her dreaded the lecture he was going to give her. She could already see the arguments budding behind his eyes. 

“There,” Anders said finally. “You should be better now.”

Fenris’ arms tightened and he kissed her forehead.

“You going to make it, Hawke?” Varric said on the other side of her.

“I think so,” she said. “Help me up and we’ll see.”

“Wait, not so fast…” Anders said quickly. Fenris helped her stand up. Her legs felt wobbly, but she stood and brushed her leathers off, giving Varric and Anders a wild smile.

The dwarf chuckled. “Maker’s balls, Hawke. You really had us worried there.”

“Can’t easily kill me,” she laughed, her eyes meeting Fenris’. He still looked worried, but he smiled back at her. 

The healer rolled his eyes. “Apparently not.”

“And look, we found the passage leading right where we need to go!” Varric pointed.

Hawke grinned. “Let’s go back.”

The walk back was eerily quiet. Even Anders and Fenris weren’t fighting. Hawke felt a pang of worry. She knew Anders was upset with her… but Fenris being so quiet as well made her anxious. His eyes wouldn’t meet hers. She bit her lip. _I know what we have is fairly new, but…_  

They had made it halfway back when they found another ogre – frozen in place. Hawk stared at it for a moment, her brows furrowed. _Wait what?_  

“How…?”

They heard a small scuffle and all turned to see a blond dwarf staring back at them.

“Enchantment?” the boy said.

“Well I’ll be a nug’s uncle,” Varric chuckled. “Isn’t that Bodahn’s boy?

The boy stared at them, his blue eyes wide.

“Did you kill of all of these creatures?” Hawke asked incredulously, staring at all the dead Darkspawn at her feet.

He held up a rune. “Boom.”

Her eyes widened as she looked at the ogre. “But how did you do that?”

“Not enchantment!” he replied, turning away and walking back toward the camp.

They all just stared.

“Smart boy,” Varric murmured.

***

When they returned, Varric sauntered over to Bartrand to give him the good news. Hawke, exhausted, made a beeline for her tent, relieved that she would be able to rest. Opening the flap to her tent, she carefully fixed her bedroll and laid her aching muscles down, sighing in relief.

“Hawke,” a voice said from outside. Fenris. She pulled her tent open and he face spread into an involuntary smile. “May I join you?” he said softly, his own lips tugging slightly up. _He must think I’m crazy, grinning like an idiot all the time._

“Of course,” she replied, trying to relax her face. _Maker’s balls I’m bad at this._

But something in his face made her face fall as he entered her tent. He crossed his arms and didn’t look her in the eye. She shifted uncomfortably.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

 “You keep putting yourself in danger,” he said, his voice low. “And each time I am filled with dread that you won’t ever open your eyes again.”

“Is it my fault that we keep getting attacked?”

“No, it’s not. The first time was understandable, you had no choice with the bandits, but…”

“But what? This time an _ogre_ attacked us and…”

“And you used _blood magic_ ,” he snapped, his eyes piercing hers.

 _Shit._ Her lips were dry as she tried to speak. “I…”

“Do you know how dangerous that is? Practicing blood magic is –”

“ _Foolish_ , I _know_ ,” Hawke snapped. “And yes, I do happen to know how dangerous it is. I’m not a child.”

“Then you know that you are now a greater target for demons.”

“ _Yes_.”

His jaw locked. “Do you have _any_ sense of self-preservation?”

“Evidently not.”

His jaw locked. “Then tell me why, why you would put yourself in harm’s way for extra _power_? Is it truly worth it to you, to sacrifice everything that you are for… _magic?_ ”

The words died at her lips. He didn’t understand, _wouldn’t_ understand. He was always too busy despising magic to see how much she struggled. How much she couldn’t bear to see him hurt by anyone – he didn’t know.

“I don’t expect you gain your approval of every decision I make, and I don’t expect you to understand. I was trying to keep you safe from a _Maker-forsaken ogre that was about to kill you.”_

“I could have handled it myself,” Fenris growled.

“Could you? I could _see_ how close you were to collapsing. Do you truly expect me to not do everything I can to make sure you don’t _die?”_

“I did not expect you to resort to such a foolish method that nearly killed _you_ , or given a demon an opening to turn you into an abomination.”

“You can disagree with me all you like but _I_ saved your life, _I_ killed the fucking ogre, and _I_ didn’t die _or_ become possessed. Regardless of what _you think_ happened, I did that _for you._ ”

“I never asked for any of that,” he seethed.

Her skin was vibrating with anger. He was looking at her as though… as though she were _already_ an abomination.

“Fine. You never asked for this. I never asked to be a mage, either. So if you have a _problem_ with that, you can feel free to _leave,”_ she said, the words burning her lips. 

His eyes widened, and he looked like she had slapped him across the face.  

Suddenly he was turning his heel, exiting her tent without another word. She closed her eyes, her stomach churning as she laid back on her bedroll. She wanted to run after him, apologize, but every part of her knew that he wouldn’t trust her. Not anymore.

But he had been so… _judgmental_. _I haven’t even made a deal with a demon,_ she said, her teeth clenching. Her head hurt from being so tired, but she was too angry to sleep. Regardless of who this Danarius was, he _knew_ she was nothing like him. All she ever wanted was to keep him safe, it didn’t matter what happened to her. She sighed. _This is going to be the death of me._    

Pulling herself back up, she pushed her way out of the tent and off to the guard’s post. One of the guards on duty looked as though he were actually dozing off.

“I can take the rest of your shift,” she said to them as she approached. They both frowned at her and nodded.

Once she was alone, she held her head in her hands and took a deep breath. She wanted to hate him. It would make it so much _easier._ She had loved him so much before when they were teenagers together, and then when he came back it was as if none of those emotions had gone away. She sighed.

_Well, I guess now that he hates me I can at least attempt to move on._

“Hey,” a voice said quietly behind her.

She jumped slightly and turned to see Anders, his head tipped to the side as he assessed her expression. “Oh, hey,” she said, lowering her hands.

“Mind if I join you?” he said as he sat down.

“No,” she said. “I could use the company.”

He nodded slightly and stared out at the chasm below. “So,” he said after a moment. “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop or anything but…”

She looked at him and raised an eyebrow at him.

He looked at her sheepishly, his amber eyes wide like a child who’d been caught stealing dessert. “I’m sorry it’s just really hard not to hear certain things, especially when we’re all in tents…”

She pursed her lips and he sighed.

“I heard you and Fenris fighting. About… about the blood magic. I know I shouldn’t have been listening and maybe it’s not my place but I just feel like as your friend…”

She blinked at him. “You should give me another lecture about blood magic? Or how my choice in men abysmal? Or maybe how I’m foolish? Well, you can save that lecture. I got most of that from him.”

He glared at her. “I was going to make sure you were okay.”

She stared at her hands. “Ah.”

“If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine. I just wanted to check on you.”

She nodded. “I will be fine. It’s not every day you get yelled at for being something that everyone is afraid of… oh, wait.”

Anders let out a laugh. “Well, you’ve still got your wretched humor at least."

She grinned.

“I just hope you know that you aren’t alone. I may not approve but… I don’t hate you for it. And I understand why you do.”

“Thank you, Anders,” she said softly.

“Anytime,” he said, a large smile spreading across his face.

***

“Hawke watch out!” Varric shouted across the cavern as he shot a wave of arrows at the incoming darkspawn.

“I’m fine _, Dad_ , get off my ass!” she shouted back, spinning her staff as she threw an ice spell in front of her, freezing several genlocks at once. She watched as a hurlock lunged at Anders. “Look out!”

Force magic came careening down from the air, smashing it down as Anders turned, barely phased.

She turned her head as a growl ripped through the air of the cavern. Fenris drove his sword through the genlocks, throwing them off the side of the chasm. His lyrium tattoos were almost blinding as he threw his weight into several more swings, knocking several more off the side.

He turned as his eyes met Hawke’s once before he turned away, his face twisted into a scowl.

The air was silent as they scanned the area, prepared for more darkspawn. When none came, Hawke stepped forward to assess a small opening in the side.

“What’s in here?” she exclaimed as she stuck her head inside. She held her hand out in front of her and a flame ignited, lighting a small corridor. At the end, she saw a light. “Come on, guys, I think I have a lead, she said, gesturing for them to follow.

When they made it to the other side, her eyes widened. The whole room was glowing red, the light coming from where the torches should have been. A wide staircase was before them, with a large door at the top.

“Seems promising,” Varric said.

Hawke nodded and the group carefully climbed the stairs. Hawke scanned the room, frowning at how… _empty_ it was. With Fenris’ help, she pushed open the door, trying not to look out of breath once the job was done. The room they entered was also empty, aside from something glowing at the top of another staircase. She bit her lip and sprinted up the next staircase.

She reached the top and stopped dead in her tracks.

The object was red. But not just the color red. It was red in every sense, if something could even _feel_ red. Her fingers trembled as she reached for it. It seemed to whisper to her, the whispers growing louder the nearer she got and then…

She picked it up and the whispers were silent. She turned it over. It was oddly shaped, almost like a woman wrapped in red with a pointed headpiece, and a man below her. _It looks oddly like the depictions of Andraste,_ she mused. Then she frowned. _But it also looks like Flemeth._ That damned witch. She was everywhere, it seemed. She shook her head. _Must be just a coincidence._

She turned to Varric and showed him the relic. “It feels so… strange,” he said with a frown.

They heard footsteps at the bottom of the stairs. They turned to see Bartrand standing there. “Find anything good?” he said lazily. Hawke frowned.

“Yeah, check this out,” Varric said. Hawke tried to stop him as he tossed the relic down to his brother, but she was too late. Bartrand turned it over.

“Great find,” he mused. “Great find indeed.”

Hawke stared after him as his stepped out of the room, pulling the door behind him.

“Wait!” she shouted after Bartrand. “The door!”

She ran down the steps and barely made it halfway across the floor when the door slammed shut. Varric was at her side.

“Bartrand!” he shouted. “The door shut behind you!”

“Very observant, brother,” Bartrand laughed from the other side. “You were always the smart one.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Hawke seethed.

“You didn’t think I really wanted to split the money three ways, did you?” he spat. “I hope the darkspawn kill you quickly, for what it’s worth.” His voice was trailing off, followed by more laughter.

“Fuck!” Varric said, slamming his hand against the door.

Hawke rested her head against the door.

“What do we do now?” she mumbled.      

They looked around the room. Varric sighed. “I guess we find a way out. Maybe we’ll stumble over my brother’s corpse along the way.”

***

There was a door at the other end of the room that led the group down a large tunnel. The dark, damp path looked like it hadn’t been walked upon in nearly a century, and the musty smell made Hawke want to vomit.

No one said a word. They barely had enough rations to make it for two days. Varric was fuming, cursing under his breath as they walked.

The scuttle of feet was the only warning they received before a pack of shades lunged at them, their shadowy fingers flying forward.  

When the dust cleared, a large rock-like creature crashed towards them. Hawke whipped her staff and threw a shield in front of them as a large boulder flew at their heads. The rock shattered. Hawke blinked as she peered at the strange creature.

It was oddly red, just like the idol.

It let out a noise that could only be some kind of growl, and moved to attack again. Fenris let out a war cry and lunged forward, his blade striking against the stone with a sharp _clank_. Using force magic, Hawke thrust the being downward, cracking its stone armor. _Or would that be skin?_

When the creature was weak enough, Hawke threw a ball of fire at it and it shattered.

“Makers balls, what was _that?_ ” Varric said.

Hawke frowned as she bent down over the creature. She picked up a piece of it. It burned her hand. She hissed and dropped it.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “Anders, have you ever seen anything like this?”

Anders shook his head. “It feels… wrong, though.”

“Well,” she said, brushing herself off as she stood. “Hopefully that was the last-”

Several rock creatures appeared from around the corner.

She rolled her eyes and twirled her staff, readying herself for another round. “Annnd here we go again.”

 They took down two of the rock creatures, only to have another one throw a few rocks at them. Hawke barely had enough time to put up another shield. A few of the rocks got through and struck her head.

“Gah,” she said, gritting her teeth. She could feel the trickle of blood down her temple. She could already feel a demon curling its fingers around her, whispering in her ear. Her eyes met Anders, and she bit her lip. Pushing the temptation away, she conjured a fire storm above the creatures’ heads. Ball of fire flew down and crashed against the animated rock.

The creatures collapsed in a heap before them. Hawke smiled and placed her hands on her hips.

“Let’s get going, shall we?” she said to them, careful not to meet Fenris’ eyes.

They made their way down the stone path, coming across a very large room. There were four large pillars around the center. Hawke stepped to the center of the room and looked around. _Dead end?_ She looked across the room and saw a large door. She sprinted to it and reached for the handle, trying to pull it open. It wouldn’t budge. Varric approached her and sighed.

“Shit,” she murmured. “This would have been our way out.”

Varric nodded slightly, then peered around her, his brows furrowing. Suddenly his brown eyes widened.

It was another rock being. Or, it looked like one. Except it was much, much bigger.

Hawke’s mouth was agape as they gazed at the being. It was red, almost like molten lava, the limbs hovering together without joints. _A demon?_ Hawke thought with dread. The being screeched, and she covered her ears. The creature leapt into the air and tightened into a ball as if it were preparing a spell. Light was burning from its core, rising as if suddenly it was going to…  

“Run!” she shouted, hurling herself behind one of the pillars. The rest of them followed quickly behind her. A bright light shot out from the creature and filled the room, its screech deafening. _We are_ not _going down like this,_ she thought angrily. _Bartrand will not win this._ The room stung with the scent of the spell, and as soon as the light dimmed, Hawke shot out from behind the pillar and started shooting spells. She could hear her friends shouting for her to come back, but she didn’t care. Demons would not scare her into hiding.

With an angry growl she conjured chain lightning, the bolts ricocheting through the being. It let out another screech – that spell hadn’t done a thing.

She growled and threw a fire spell. Nothing. It rolled towards her, but she managed to throw herself off of its path. It threw a lighting spell back at her. She threw up a shield and frowned. _If he’s throwing lightning, he would be vulnerable to the opposite element._ As it started to throw another lightning spell, she dispelled the attack.

“Come on!” she shouted at the creature. Twirling her staff, she kept the creature at a safe distance. A flash of white hair came across her peripherals.  

“Hawke! What are you doing?” Fenris said as he stood beside her, his sword drawn.  

“He’s vulnerable to ice and spirit attacks,” she said smoothly, “though I would imagine that he could be vulnerable to physical attacks, too.”

“Do you not see that thing?” he hissed. “It could kill you.”

She swung her staff and pointed it at the creature. “Then don’t let me fight alone,” she said icily before running at the creature and hurling ice spells.

Fenris sighed heavily. “You _are_ going to get me killed one day.”

His voice was far more intimate than she had expected. Shouldn’t he hate her? Why was his still trying to help her, even after everything? She shook the thought away. _Now is not the time._

The creature’s screeches grew louder, and more rock wraiths joined them. Varric and Anders joined them in the fray, the group keeping themselves close to Anders just in case one of them was knocked out. The creature conjured the light spell again and they ran behind another pillar. As soon as the light ended, they ran back out and took more shots at it.

The rock wraith… demon… or whatever it was, Hawke didn’t know, started to weaken, she threw more aggressive ice spells. She was running low on energy and running out of lyrium potions. She focused on her footing as to not fall.

“Die, damn you!” Anders shouted throwing a large spirit spell at the beast. It growled and lifted its weak rock fingers toward the mage. A bolt of lighting shot from its finger, and flew at him, striking him instantly.  

He went down.

“Anders!” Hawke shouted. With a final spell, she threw another ice spell. The creature let out a screech and the rocks collapsed into a pile. The room was silent. She was at his side in an instant, clutching his wounds, the blood staining her skin. He let out a gasp for air.

“I’ll be fine,” he struggled to pull himself up, groaning at the pain.

“No, stop,” she said. “Just tell me what to do, I can heal you.”

Her eyes met his, and she knew he could see every ounce of weakness within her. He held his hand to hers, and brought her fingers down to his chest where the wraith had pierced him.

“Focus your energy here first,” his said. “Try to see the break.”

She held her breath. It pierced him a lot deeper than the bone. “It’s more than just a break.”

“I know,” he said.

She took a deep breath. “I can try.”

He stared at her. “I believe in you, Hawke.”

She tried to smile but it felt more like a grimace. She winced as the rest of her magic poured into the wound. She could feel it slowly healing from the inside. She bit her lip as she concentrated on pulling together the breaks that were closer to his heart.

Her hands ached as she pushed all of her energy into it, and they began to shake. Varric and Fenris were waiting across the room, sitting as they watched. _I’m not going to be able to do this quickly enough,_ she thought. _If I turn slightly I can hide it._ Pressing her lips together, she moved her hand to reach for her dagger.

Anders caught her wrist.

“No,” he said gently, his amber eyes wide. “You don’t need to do that.”

“But I won’t be able to…”

He shook his head. “Don’t ever hurt yourself on my account. Do what you can and then rest. I’m not dead yet.” He smiled weakly.

“You are _not_ dying on me,” she said through clenched teeth. Grabbing a lyrium vial, she drank down the liquid quickly, instantly pulling from the energy and pouring it all into the wound. It began closing faster, but not by much. Anders’ eyes shut and he laid his head back.  

Finally, the wound was close enough the surface that she could stop.

“Anders,” she said softly, touching his face. She felt a small jolt as her fingers brushed his stubble. He lifted his head and looked at her, then down to his chest. He touched the skin and smiled brightly.

“See?” he said softly. “No blood magic required.”

She smiled, tears budding in her eyes. She helped him stand, and his eyes met hers. But something about them was… different. Warmer. Deeper. She blushed deeply and made her way over to Varric and Fenris. Fenris was staring at his hands, not daring to meet her eyes.

“You good, Blondie?” Varric said.

Anders nodded.

“Good. Then let’s get the Void out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, I'm sorry this took so long. Life happens, I guess, but I'll try to post a lot more. Thanks for reading and putting up with my sporadic updates! You all are great!


	19. Part Three: Smoke and Mirrors | Chapter Nineteen: Kirkwall Nights

The steps up to Gamlen’s hovel seemed so different from what Hawke remembered. The edges had almost been worn down since she left. The waves from the shore crashed in a way that made her shiver with happiness. _Home._ She pushed the door open, reveling in the old creak of the wood and the rush of warm air that was laced with her mother’s cooking. But the smile that was spread across her face faded as she stared inside, blinking in disbelief at what she saw.

“There’s nothing you can do to convince me otherwise,” Carver said, his voice piercing the air.

“Please, please just think about it a little longer,” Leandra said, stretching out her arm to him as he turned his back to her. His eyes met Marian’s.

“Well look who decided to show up, finally,” he spat at her.

“Please, Marian,” Leandra said, her eyes filled with tears, “talk some sense into him!”

Hawke looked down at what Carver was wearing and a lump grew in her throat. _No._

His armor had been freshly shined with the Templar emblem expertly etched across the metallic chest. Sword and shield in hand, Carver stood before her – no longer her younger brother, the boy she had chased through the streets of Denerim, nor the one who shook her awake from nightmares. He was a man, and he was going to be a Templar. _A blasted Templar._

“Carver,” she choked.

“Save your breath,” he said. “I’ve already made up my mind. Get out of my way.” He pushed his way past her and out the open door.

“Carver!” Marian shouted after him. He turned.

“I’m tired of living in your shadow, sister,” he said, gritting his teeth. “It’s time I made something of myself in this city, _without_ your help.”  

Hawke was speechless. In her efforts to protect him from Darkspawn, she had pushed him towards something even worse. Now he would be forced to take lyrium and live his life in the Kirkwall Circle – hating mages, but hating apostates even more. Hating her.

“You can do better than _this_ Carver,” she said, reaching for his arm. “You don’t need to chain yourself to a life in the Circle.”

Her brother shirked away from her.

“Goodbye, Marian,” he said, slamming the door behind him.

She bit her lip to pull herself back together. She turned to her mother and wrapped her arms around the weeping woman.

“We will see him again,” Marian murmured.

Leandra pulled herself away. “He won’t be the _same_ ,” she snapped. “He’ll be a lyrium addict like all the others. He could… he could… take you _away_.”

“Mother, don’t be ridiculous,” Hawke sighed. “He wouldn’t turn on us like that.”

Leandra turned away. “You can’t trust everyone who goes into the Order. Your father was murdered by… by one of his close friends. They had grown up together, lived in the Circle together. But after your father got away… something happened to him. The man who had once protected us was now the one hunting us. He didn’t even think twice about it.”

“Carver is _family_ ,” Hawke snapped.

“And as long as we have no status within Kirkwall, we have no guarantee that they won’t come pounding on our door. You don’t exactly make it a secret that you’re an apostate.”

“Well then I guess it’s good I brought enough money to buy back the estate,” Hawke said through clenched teeth. She dropped the bag of coins on the table. “Just don’t let Gamlen get a hold of it.”

Leandra stared at the bag, dumbfounded. “How much is it?”

“Enough,” Hawke pursed her lips. “I can walk you to the Viscount’s Keep if you like.”

“No, no,” Leandra said. “You’re tired. I have a friend who can walk with me. Go rest.”

“I’ve rested enough,” Hawke said, taking a deep breath. “I’m going out.”

Without another word, Hawke pulled the door back open and stepped outside. Her head spun and her chest felt like it was filled with lead. Part of her wondered what would have happened if she had taken Carver with her. Maybe he would have decided to stay, maybe he wouldn’t have wanted to join the Templars. But another part of her knew that he had always been striving to be someone bigger than he’d felt. He walked in her shadow and they both knew it. She was the eldest – the protector. He no longer needed, or wanted, protection. She just hoped that he wouldn’t hand her over to the Templars. Carver didn’t seem like he would but… he was fiercely loyal to those he chose to follow.

 _Luckily he doesn’t know about the blood magic. He would be honor-bound to turn me in as a potential abomination._ Even if Carver was accepting of mages, blood magic was a completely different subject. He would turn her in for it – even if just to save her from herself. But the Templars wouldn’t hesitate to kill her – or worse, make her Tranquil. Shuddering at the thought, she walked down the steps and made her way to the Hanged Man. She needed a drink.

***

Carver made his way up the stone steps of the Gallows. Knight-Commander Meredith and Knight-Captain Cullen both knew he was coming, but they didn’t tell him what lay in store other than beginning the initial training. Lyrium would come later, Cullen had said.

 _You can still turn back._ _You can talk to Aveline, be a city guard instead._ He shook the thought away. _No._ He had never been important, never special. He didn’t have magic, or any special skills. He couldn’t save his father, or Bethany. But he knew how to use a sword, and now he could save Marian if she ever got herself caught. He would be able to do more than threaten the Templars or get himself killed. He would never tell her that, of course. But some part of him felt like she knew. She had to know.

The statues above him gave him shivers down his spine. He knew Kirkwall used to be a slaving city, but he still wasn’t used to the chained statues that completely covered the Gallows. He thought of Leto when they lived in Denerim. Marian always ignored the marks on his wrists, and the hint of slashes on his back peaking up to his neck from the abuse. He wasn’t sure what he could have done back then – but becoming a Templar meant he could protect Fenris from the mages that hunted him. He wondered if Fenris would ever remember his past… remember him, too. Marian had been sad about the whole ordeal, as she’d the right to, but she’d never even thought to ask him if he was okay too. Leto had been one of his only friends as a child – even if he was a bit younger. Leto never made him feel like his sister’s shadow. Even now, he didn’t. In the recent months, they’d been able to get closer to the friendship they’d once had, but he still had to pretend. He hoped Marian would tell him, and soon. Looking straight ahead, he quickly passed them and made a beeline for the Circle gates. The sooner he got started, the sooner he could be a true member of the Order and not hide away like a coward.

As soon as he passed through the gates and made his way up the stairs, he immediately saw Knight-Captain Cullen waiting for him.

“You’re early, recruit,” Cullen said, his face solemn. “That’s a good way to begin your time here. I will introduce you to your fellow recruits, and they will show you to your quarters and the dining hall. We start training at dawn tomorrow. Follow me.”

Carver nodded. Something about Cullen made him feel on edge, but he pushed the thought away as they approached a large set of doors. The Knight-Captain led him down a long hallway lit by flickering torches and decorated with tapestries – some with Chantry symbols, others with the sigil of the Templar Order, others with the sigil of Kirkwall. The hallway opened to a large room with staircases on either side, and the Knight-Captain led him to the left staircase and up. There were three mages standing near the railing at the top, glancing over at Carver and giggling as he passed. Carver felt his cheeks grow hot and he hurried to catch up with the Knight-Captain.

“I don’t think I need to tell you this, but relations with the mages of any kind is strictly forbidden,” Cullen said once they were out of earshot. “Nothing must get in the way of duty.”

“Understood, ser,” Carver said.

“Ah, yes, here we are,” Cullen said, ushering Carver through the door. Three recruits were laughing amongst themselves when they entered, but quickly quieted when they saw Cullen. “Meet the new recruit, Carver Hawke. You will show him around, and help him get used to his new life here, as you have.”

Carver watched as Cullen left, and he pressed his lips together as his eyes met three other pairs.

“Ho there, friend,” one of them said, standing up and holding out his hand. “My name is Brandon, this here’s Dera and Finn. Welcome to the Order.”

Carver shook his hand. “I’m Carver…” Brandon’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. Carver rubbed the back of his neck, “but you already knew that. Maker I’m bad at meeting new people.”

“It’s alright,” Brandon said, smacking his back. “We were all nervous at the beginning. But no matter. We’ll tell you everything you need to know, starting with which guards to bribe if you want a night out…”

Carver walked with them down the hall, feeling for the first time that he could truly start to carve out his own path, and no one was going to stop him.

***

“What _you_ need is a good rut,” Isabel said winking at Hawke as they sat with Varric at a small table with three pints in front of them. Hawke took a large swig.

“Easy for you to say,” she said. “You could have any man you wanted. The only one _I_ want is unavailable in almost every sense of the word.”

“Please,” the pirate said slyly, “you don’t need an emotional attachment to have a good time.”

“Maybe not, but I think the most that will get me is more guilt.”

Isabela sat back thoughtfully. Then she snapped. “Then let’s go do something to get your mind off of it.”

“I’m not having a threesome.”

Isabela glared at her. “You do know sex is not _all_ I think about.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow, and Varric laughed. Isabela sighed. “Well it _isn’t_. It’s not a bad thing anyway.”

“I never said it was,” Hawke laughed. “But you’re forgetting that this isn’t even an issue of my romantic life. My brother joined the Templars. He’s going to be a slave to the Order for the rest of his _life._ If he had only _talked_ to me…

“Look, your brother made his decision. And it was _his_ to make. I don’t think Carver is the kind of person that would just give you to Meredith. You’re still his sister,” Varric chimed in.

“I know, it’s just… I could have been a better sister. I could have taken him to the Deep Roads with me.”

“He probably still would have made that decision,” Isabela said, taking a swig of ale. “It’s not all on you to save him, anyway.”

“But it is,” Hawke said. “I’m the eldest, I have to…”

“No, you don’t,” Isabela laughed. “You have this silly notion that you have to _save everyone_. Well, spoilers, you can’t save everyone. It’d be impossible.”

“Not to mention you’d probably lose all of your hair trying to accomplish such a feat,” Varric said. “But Rivaini is right. You don’t need to worry about Junior, he’ll be alright. Maybe Meredith is crazy but I’ve heard that the Knight-Captain is fairly sensible. For the most part, anyway.”

“I guess you’re right… it’s just hard to not be able to protect him anymore.”

“He will be alright, Hawke,” Isabela said, placing her hand on Hawke’s. “We’re going to go have some fun, take your mind off of things. We’ll make a _night_ of it.”

“Try to keep out of trouble, you two,” Varric chuckled. “If you need me, I’ll be upstairs.”

As he left, Isabela looked at her, her mouth curled into a wide grin. “Come on!”

“Why am I already regretting this?” Hawke said, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Because you’re a stick in the mud. Let’s go,” she laughed, pulling Hawke out of her chair and out of the Hanged Man.

***

Fenris stared out at Hightown from his window. He’d only been home for a few minutes and he already felt a crushing sense of loneliness. He hadn’t left things with Hawke the way he’d wanted to – but he couldn’t stand by and watch as she gave herself to blood magic the way many of the mages in Tevinter did.

He’d never pitied the mages Danarius had kept around, or even Danarius himself. They were all consumed by greed and need for more power – and they always needed more. More money, more status, more respect, more blood.

But Hawke didn’t want any of that. She was only afraid of losing people. He knew that, but he’d seen what some mages would do just for survival. He didn’t want the power to consume her, too. He sighed, pulling himself from the window and sitting by the fireplace with a freshly opened bottle of wine. There was nothing he could do – Hawke had made her decision. It was her life, after all. But the big question was – did he truly want to stay around and wait for the demons to turn her into an abomination?

He clenched his teeth. The mere thought over them wreaking havoc on her body, disfiguring her mind, body, and soul for their own gain… it made him sick. He felt helpless and yet…

He couldn’t let that happen. Maybe she’d be angry with him but he wouldn’t just stand by and watch them take her.

A knock came at the front door. He frowned. Crossing the mansion, he made it to the front door and opened it.

“Jerry?” he said.

The small boy stared at him with his large eyes. “I’ve news, Messere.” He handed him a small slip of parchment with words scrawled across it. Fenris pursed his lips, frustration building in his chest.

“Just tell me the message,” he said.

“It’s Hadriana, Messere,” he said. His skin went cold. “She’s in Kirkwall.” 

***

Hawke woke up the next morning, and squinted at the light. Her head was throbbing, and she felt like she was going to puke.

Suddenly a tall glass of some concoction was thrust in her face.

“Drink up,” Isabela said with a laugh. “That headache will be gone in no time.”

“Agh,” Hawke lifted herself and took a large swig of the drink. Hawke gagged “Andraste’s great arse what did you give me?”

“The best medicine after a good night out,” she laughed. “Here, drink some water, it’ll help it go down.”

Hawke drank the water quickly and put her face in her hand. “What in the Void happened last night? And why do my arms hurt?”

“We had _fun_. I can’t believe you don’t remember. We drank some more at the Hanged Man and then I took you down to the docks with some of my… sailor friends… and we had a grand time until you decided that you wanted to climb one of the buildings. We managed to get you down, though. You also convinced one of my friends to give you a haircut.”

Hawke’s eyes widened.

Isabela shrugged. “I tried to talk you out of it, but you kept saying that you needed a change. I wasn’t about to stand in the way of that. Truth be told, you look better with short hair, and at least you didn’t ask for a tattoo.”

Hawke lifted her hand to her hair and winced at how short it was.

“Here, take a look,” Isabela handed her a small mirror.

She looked… better, actually. Her black hair was completely off her neck, and just barely covered her ears. The front was a bit jagged but it framed her face in a halfway-decent way. She smiled. “My compliments to your friend.”

“Right? He’s a real scoundrel, that one, but he never ceases to surprise us.”

“I’ll have to thank him in person… when I’m sober, this time.”

“You will. We agreed to meet up with them again sometime soon.”

Hawke’s head throbbed slightly. “Not too soon, I hope.”

Isabela laughed. “You’re such a baby.”

“Marian,” her mother called from the other room.

“Yes, Mother, I’m coming,” she said. Isabela winked.

“I’ll see you later, then,” she said, making her way out of Gamlen’s home.

Hawke struggled out of bed and made her way to the main room. Her mother stood there, a grin across her face.

“We got the old estate back,” she said. “We can start moving today! Here, there was even a little bit left over. I felt it best that you had it,” she said. “You did earn it, after all.”

She dropped the bag in Marian’s hands.

“But I don’t…”

“ _Please,_ ” she said. “Just take it. I’m content enough with having my childhood home back.”

Marian smiled. “Let’s go see it, then. Dust off some old cobwebs, clean up any blood stains…”

“ _Marian_ ,” her mother warned.

Hawke laughed as the two made their way out of the house, happy to leave the smell of Gamlen behind.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's taken me so long - I've had a lot of family stuff going on! But, I have the next chapter partially written as well, so I'll try to post it soon! Thank you so much for reading!


	20. Sunset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: NSFW chapter  
> Fluff through most of it, though.

The glass bottle in Fenris’ hand glinted against the sunlight. Looking through the open window of the mansion, he watched as the countless people of Hightown wandered across the streets, with not a care in the world. He grimaced. He needed to find Hadriana, and soon. She would lead him to Danarius, he was sure – but the child Jerry hadn’t been back in nearly a week.

He was growing impatient.

If Hadriana was here, he needed to get to her before he could even dream of getting to Danarius. And he would need all the help he could get.

Running his fingers through his hair, he let out a sigh. Hawke had agreed to help him before the Deep Roads. And now they were right back where they started. He stood up abruptly, pacing across the wood floor of his chambers. Hawke wasn’t the sort of woman to go back on a promise. She also wasn’t the sort to forgive him easily after he had hurt her in such a way. He cared for her… deeply. But it didn’t matter. He needed to be rid of Danarius once and for all, and Hawke knew that. At least he hoped.

 _It couldn’t hurt to ask,_ he thought. She’d moved to Hightown recently, too, so visiting her wouldn’t be too out of the way…

His heart leapt at the thought of seeing her again, then sank deep within his abdomen. He was so sure that she hated him now, and there was nothing he could do.

Fenris looked out at the sunset that was painting the tops of the buildings of Hightown in brilliant shades of orange and pink. He could see the bright pink of Marian’s cheeks in the sky, and the same bright light that glowed every time she laughed. He thought of the blue of her eyes, a wild sea during a storm – threatening, powerful, and her voice that lilted so beautifully every time she spoke of her adventures. He could remember pushing wisps of messy, dark hair from her face, nestling next to her as she slowly fell asleep in his arms in their small tent – the same warmth the sky held had embedded itself inside his chest, holding a weight larger than anything he could remember within his ribcage.

Resting his elbows on the windowsill, he held his face in his hands.  

***

Fenris approached the Amell Estate door, biting his lip. He stomach churned as he knocked on the thick wood. He heard small footsteps reach the door, though almost confused them for his heart pounding inside his chest. The door opened to reveal a dwarven man.

“Bodahn?” Fenris said. His heart sank.

“Good afternoon, Messere! How can I help you?”

Fenris rubbed the back of his neck. “Is Marian here?”

“I’m afraid not, Messere. She went out with the Lady Isabela for the night, and won’t be home for a while.”

“Ah,” Fenris said. “Would you mind if I waited for her? I have something of great urgency to discuss with her.” The dwarf nodded and led him inside. Fenris’ eyes widened as they walked past the foyer. The Amell estate was beautiful. The walls towered overhead with a large fireplace just past the foyer. He pressed his lips together. _Maybe this was a bad idea. She’ll only send me away._

He eyed the door, debating whether or not to try backing out before she came back.

_No. I need to stay. She agreed to help me before. She will honor that. Even if… even if…_

He hung his head. He didn’t know how she would even respond to him being there, much less trying to speak to her about the Deep Roads. Leaning against the wall by the fireplace, his eyes felt heavy. Closing them, he let himself drift into sleep.

***

Hawke threw down her card. “I absolutely _despise_ this game,” she said with a huff.

Isabela laughed. “Maybe I should teach you some of my tricks before I let you play again.”

Hawke was sitting around a table with Isabela and several of her friends that she had supposedly met the other night playing Wicked Grace. Or trying to, at least. She sighed heavily. Truth be told, she hadn’t really wanted to come out that evening. But she knew that if she’d stayed home, she would have gotten roaring drunk and ended up on Fenris’ doorstep. This seemed like a far less humiliating choice… at the time.

“You mean teach her how to cheat?” one of the men, Fergus, said. He wore an eyepatch and had shaggy black hair. Allegedly, he’d been the barber that had cut Hawke’s hair. His one uncovered brown eye looked at Isabela surreptitiously. “We all know your tells, Isabela.”

“Afraid I’m going to rob you blind?” She gave him a smirk and added quietly, “again?”

The other men at the table roared with laughter and Fergus grimaced. Hawke just rolled her eyes. “Well this evening has been absolutely enthralling, but I better get home before I lose my whole estate.” She slid herself away from the table and threw down the coins she owed. “Until next time, gentlemen.”

“We’ll hold you to it, lass,” Fergus smiled.

As Hawke pushed her way out of the tavern and into the cold, she shivered. _Should have worn a thicker tunic_ , she sighed as she made her way across the street. The door to the tavern opened again.

“Wait,” Isabela said, jogging over to Hawke. She folded her arms over her chest. “Do you want any company?”

Hawke shrugged and Isabela fell in line beside her as they walked back.

“Have you talked to Fenris?” she said after a while.  

“No,” Hawke said. “I doubt he wants to talk to me. And I’m not really sure I want to talk to him, either.”

Isabela gave her an inquisitive look.

She wasn’t sure Isabela would really understand. It wasn’t exactly a topic that people going around talking about. _Hello, my name is Hawke and I’m a blood mage because I’m so afraid of everyone dying around me._ She chuckled at herself. “It’s a long story,” she said simply. “But the short of it is that he and I disagreed on a choice I made. I was angry. I said some things and…” she sighed, running her hands through her hair. “It’s all a mess.”  

“So you were more than just a thing down in the Deep Roads,” Isabela laughed.

Hawke groaned. “I told Varric and Anders not to say anything.”

“You should be more careful with your secrets around Varric, then,” she said, her laugh trailing off. “But in all seriousness, I think you should at least talk to him. I may not be one for emotional attachments but… have you _seen_ the way you two look at one another? It’s obvious that you both care a great deal for each other. No petty argument is going to change that.” She paused for a moment. “Though if it does, I’d say it’s not worth it.”  

“Perhaps.”

She knew Isabela was right. She should talk to him – apologize. _Something._ She cared for him too much to be stuck in this strange purgatory. But she doubted he even felt the same. He’d seemed like he did for so long. But she was a mage – there would always be a part of her that he hated. Without thought, without reason, he would always hate her magic. Her heart sank and they were both quiet all the way back to the Amell estate.  

***

“Fenris,” a voice said softly. The elf started awake and turned to see Hawke staring at him. _How long was I asleep?_ He shook the question away. It wasn’t important now. She bit her lip nervously. He blinked. Her hair was cut short – very short. Some of it hung in her face, but all of her dark tendrils were just gone. The look suited her. She crossed her arms across her chest that was covered in some kind of red robe. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” he started, standing up. _Fasta vass I’m bad at this._ “I came to ask for your help.”

She nodded and leaned against the wall with her arms still crossed. “What do you need?”

“I found a lead,” he said softly. “Of the whereabouts of Danarius. Or… rather his apprentice, Hadriana. I need… I could use your help to find her.”

She nodded. “Of course, Fenris.”

“Thank you Mar– Hawke,” he corrected himself.

Her lips parted slightly, as though she wanted to say something, before she pressed them back together. The air grew very still as they stared at one another, and Hawke shifted slightly. “So,” she said slowly, “when do we leave?”

“Preferably as soon as possible,” he said quickly. “I don’t want her getting away from me.” His eyes were cast downward and his brows furrowed. A slow fire burned at the center of his core. The thought of her getting away… the wretched bitch.

“We’ll get her, don’t worry,” Hawke said, clearly noting the change in his expression.   

He nodded slightly and crossed his arms. Hadriana would be ready for an attack, he was sure of it. But she wasn’t likely to leave the area before the week was out, especially since they just started the slave operation her. And she wouldn’t want to come home empty-handed. She’d no longer be Danarius’ star pupil. He shuddered at the thought of her standing over him, her teeth peeled back into a wretched smile as she prepared to give him back to his master.

“Is that all?” Hawke said after a while.

His head snapped back up, but he paused. He knew they needed to talk about the Deep Roads eventually, but a lump had begun to grow in his throat. “Y-yes,” he said. “That’s all.”

He turned away and back towards the door, his heart sinking in his chest. His fingers reached for the doorknob and paused. The cool metal was smooth beneath his fingertips, and something in him felt like it was building up, ready to snap.

“No,” Fenris said, turning back around. Hawke met his eyes. “That’s not all.”

He closed the distance between them, fire burning in his chest. “You have been avoiding me since we spoke in the Deep Roads. I realize that given the circumstances, you have needed your space, and while I do not always agree with your choices, I respect that they are yours. I apologize if I have ever made it seem like I did not.”

Hawke unfolded her arms, her face hardening. “You made it _very_ clear that you don’t approve of my choices or my magic.”  

“Regardless of my disposition towards both, I will respect that they are your choices, not mine.”

“And yet I can still feel you despise that part of me. No matter what I do to prove myself otherwise, you won’t trust me to know my magic or myself. Nothing you say matters if your actions don’t follow suit.” She turned away from him, ready stalk up the stairs.

“I know,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “I’m sorry. My past experiences with blood magic and power-hungry mages has haunted me more than I can describe. I hate everything that they are because of what they choose to do with it. But the last thing I want is for you to think that I despise any part of you because I don’t. I can’t.” Hawke stopped at the foot of the stairs and looked back at him, their eyes meeting. “You are different from them, and you have never failed to use what power you have to protect the people you care about. In truth, I see some of myself in that – I would do anything for the people that I love. I’m terrified of how many ways you could be hurt, but I will trust you to make those choices for yourself. Maybe it’s foolish but…” his words trailed off. Silence filled the room and his throat bobbed.   

“I love you, Marian,” he said, his voice breaking.   

Her eyes widened. A cool brush of air felt like it was whipping through the room, sending shivers down his spine.

“W-what?” she said softly.

He pressed his lips together, his cheeks burning as he made his way to her again. Her blue eyes pierced his. “I love you. No amount of magic is going to change that. Just… please don’t do anything to get yourself killed.”

She let out a small chuckle. “No promises but I will try.”

He gave her a crooked smile and brushed her hair from her face. She shivered. His fingers trailed down her cheek and his hand rested on the base of her neck. “Command me to go, and I shall.”

“Don’t go,” she murmured.

He took her jaw in his hands and pulled her face to his own, crushing her lips with his. He pushed her backward, pinning her against the stairwell. She pulled him closer and flipped him around, pressing her body to his. He gasped and gripped the fabric at her hips and let out a small moan as she nibbled his bottom lip. She ran her fingers through the back of his hair. Lilac filled his nostrils and his head began to spin.

***

“But,” Hawke said softly, brushing her lips against his, “let’s go somewhere a little more private.” There was no way she wanted her mother walking in on this.  

He nodded simply and she pulled him further into the mansion. Her head was swimming. The shred of doubt that had rippled through her before she’d come back with Isabela was ripping away from her mind. Whether it was naïve of her to trust his words or not was something that remained to be seen. Gripping his hand tightly, she walked him up the stairs to her room and shut the door behind her. Hawke took a deep breath and turned to face him before he had her lips against his again. She trusted him with every fiber of her being. She let out a small moan as he pulled her legs up around him. The heat of him was pressed to her, and her cheeks grew hot. He walked her to the bed, laying her down as he pulled his shirt up over his head, mussing up his hair.  

She trembled as he stared at her, his emerald eyes hooded with want. Pulling her own tunic over her head, she tossed it aside, the fabric wrapped around her breasts, her smalls the only thing covering her. Fenris stared, and she lifted herself from the bed to ease his pants down his legs, and he lowered himself to her, capturing her mouth again, his skin burning against hers. She pulled him over her, and he ground himself against her. She let out a moan and flipped him on his back with her powerful legs.

Fenris gripped her waist again, biting her neck and shoulders as she ground against him. She lifted herself finally to undo the bindings. As she removed the fabric, his eyes roamed across her form. She fell on the bed beside him before removing her smalls and he pulled her back to him, running his fingers through her hair.

He flipped her back onto her back, letting her head softly land on the pillows, and locked eyes with her. He bit his lip. Hawke frowned.

“Something wrong?”

“It’s just,” he murmured, “the markings usually make it difficult to... do anything. The pain is usually unbearable. This is the first time they haven’t…” He let out a sigh and scratched the back of his head. “I’m overthinking it, I suppose.”

Hawke curled her fingers through his before kissing him softly. “It’s okay. We can take it slow. Just tell me if anything makes you feel uncomfortable and we will stop.”

He kissed her harder, and pushed her back down. She pulled him tightly against her, and his hand lowered below her abdomen. He glanced at her and she nodded, and he continued downward, stroking her as she let out a groan. He bit her neck and let his fingers circle around her clit, reveling in the wetness. His markings began to glow ever so slightly as color crept up to his cheeks. She could feel the heat rising in her abdomen, and she bit his neck as he swirled his fingers, pushing them inside her slowly. The heat swelled into unfathomable energy that filled her, swelling until finally it shattered and she let out a cry.

He covered her mouth with his and she nibbled his lip gently. Looking into his eyes, she beamed. “Do you want to?”

His lips spread into an intoxicating smile. Her muscles trembled.

“Yes,” he said softly. “You?”

“Yes,” she laughed. She lifted her face to his, covering her mouth with her own. He pulled her abdomen tightly against his own, falling back into a grind against her skin. She kissed his neck and gently bit his ear, and he moaned softly. She wanted all of him – every piece that he was willing to give. The three words he’d said earlier echoed in her mind, and every bone in her body wanted to tell him – no, _show_ him – how much she did, too.

He slipped his hand back down to her sex, and circled her clit before slipping a finger inside. Her moans grew louder as he continued, and he slipped a second finger inside. She wriggled beneath him, her cheeks pink with pleasure. He kissed her hard as he finally lowered his member over her, carefully sheathing himself inside. She cried out and he slowly pushed further in.

She enveloped him, gripping his skin tightly as they pressed themselves together, his groans filling her ears. Their rhythm sped up and they rocked together, their cries echoing throughout her chamber. She felt herself swelling with heat again, lifting her higher and higher until suddenly they both shattered, their climaxes ripping through all her senses. He slowed down, his kisses covering every inch of her, each of them so gentle.

His eyes met hers, deepening as they took one another in. He rolled himself over to her side and she buried herself in his chest.

She feared that her heart would burst.

“I love you, too,” she murmured.

He held her tightly against him and kissed the top of her head before darkness swept up around her, lulling her to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter - the real problems begin.


	21. The Threat Remains

Hawke stirred awake from the death-like sleep she was in. The room around her was dark, but she found her thick blanket wrapped around her. She blinked, and the entirety of the night before came flooding back – skin, laughter, his mouth never leaving hers for more than a few seconds. _Fenris_. Her mouth spread into a smile. His perfect green eyes looking into her own, making her shiver with happiness. She turned herself over, expecting to fall against his chest.

But there was nothing. She shot upright, her heart panicking.

He was curled all the way on the other side of the bed, nestled in his pillow. She smiled at the peaceful expression on his face. Throwing her feet over the side of the bed, she stretched her arms up lazily before sliding into her robe. A good breakfast was in order.

Walking down the stairs, she straightened her hair, lest her mother see her.

“Oh, Messere!” Bodahn said. “You’re awake! You have a visitor.”

Hawke looked to see Anders waiting at the end of the staircase.

“Anders,” she said, blinking. “What are you doing here?”

Slight confusion flashed across his face but he gave her a crooked smile. “Healing lessons?”

“Right!” she said rubbing her forehead. “I forgot that was today. Listen, I was thinking… perhaps we should have them this evening. Something came up, and…”

She trailed off as she saw his eyes wander behind her, his expression darkening. She looked to see Fenris in his leggings and a simple white tunic, his hair still mussed from the night before. He was glowering at Anders. “Well if it isn’t the _abomination._ ”

“Fenris…” Hawke sighed.

“Say no more, Hawke, I get it,” Anders said coolly, his knuckles turning white against his staff. “Some other time, then.” He turned and stalked out of the mansion.

Hawke sighed and covered her face with her hand. “Great.” _Just what I needed._  

She turned to look at Fenris whose brows were still knitted together. “I forgot I was supposed to meet him this morning. But I think I’m a little too _tired._ ” She gave him a small smirk and his face relaxed as he let out a chuckle. He stepped down to meet her, his fingers brushing her cheek as he kissed her forehead. 

“Marian?” her mother called from the other room. She stepped through the doorway by the foot of the stairs. “Oh! Sorry,” she said, a smile creeping across her face. “I wasn’t aware you had visitors. I made breakfast this morning because Carver said he was coming to visit.”

 _Carver_.

“I thought he wasn’t allowed to come visit yet? Not until…” _Not until the lyrium was under control._

“Well apparently he’s handling it a lot better than most,” she said with a shrug. “Either way, you and Fenris are welcome to it.”

Hawke blushed and she turned back to Fenris with a sheepish expression. “Breakfast?” 

***

Carver Hawke crossed the Gallows courtyard, sweat dripping down his neck. He was grateful to be rid of his armor for today. There was nothing worse than heavy layers of metal in inescapable heat. There was a strange commotion in the courtyard today – everyone seemed slightly frantic. An elf rushed past him, nearly knocking him over.

He frowned. The mages hadn’t really been acting up. Though he didn’t really understand the fear surrounding Kirkwall’s Circle of Magi – they were particularly well-behaved, in his opinion. _Though, I don’t really have anything to compare it to_.

 He passed a group of Templars closely.

“I don’t understand, it has nothing to do with us,” one of the templars said. _Mira._

“This affects all of Kirkwall,” another said. “The Qunari have been here for too long without doing anything. _Who knows_ what they’re planning.”

“This is ridiculous,” one of the senior Templars said. “The Kirkwall Guard needs to stop sitting on its ass and find out what’s going on. Several templars have spotted some of the Qunari going through the Docks at night – but the city guard hasn’t investigated anything.”

“How do you know?” Mira said.

“Because Meredith sent me to go alert them,” he sighed. “The Guard Captain wouldn’t believe a damn word I was saying. She’s convinced that her guard would have seen them already if it were a problem.”

“But she can’t just…”

“I know.”

Carver frowned and continued. He knew he should go see his mother and Marian but… this sounded like something that should be investigated – _without_ his big sister leading the way. If there was any truth to what they were saying, he needed to protect his family, and he needed Aveline to believe him. Which he could do.  

Because this time she would see it for herself.

The Qunari scared him terribly, though he never admitted it. Every time he saw them, all he could see was the ogre that killed Bethany. He could hear her bones snap… he shuddered and lifted himself into the boat to take him to the Docks. Holding his face in his hands, he tried not to picture his dead sister. Anger consumed him. The Qunari would not do the same to the rest of his family. _Over my dead body._

By the time he stood at the door of Guard-Captain Aveline, his hands had stopped shaking. He rapped against the wood quickly. His mother would be upset that he wasn’t able to come in time for breakfast, but this was far more urgent.

The redhead opened the door and stared at him, her brows knitted together. “Carver?”

“Aveline,” he breathed. “I need your help.”

 

***

When they had finished breakfast, Fenris pushed his chair away from the table.

“Thank you for the meal,” he said to Leandra, bowing his head slightly. “I am sorry Carver wasn’t able to make it.”

“You’re welcome, dear,” Leandra said with a sad smile. “I am too, but these things happen. I’m sure he’ll turn up soon.”

Fenris turned to glance down at Marian before turning his heel and leaving the dining room. Sipping the last of her tea, she took the hint and followed him down the hallway and to the foyer, her heart leaping within her chest.

Once they were out of earshot of everyone, he circled his arm around her waist and pulled her close. His breath was warm against her skin and she tipped her head to look up at him. Her breath hitched. He’d never lost the ability to make her weak in the knees. Ever since they were kids…

Her stomach twisted. She still hadn’t told him. _I could tell him now,_ she thought. _He trusts me, he knows I would never doing anything to hurt him._ The words were coming to her lips, bubbling at the surface. _Fenris, I need to tell you something…_

“Leaving so soon?” she said instead.  

He gave her a smirk. “For the time being. I need to get back to my contact to find out where Hadriana will be located. Once I’m finished…” his voice trailed off as his eyes darted from her own to her lips.

She raised an eyebrow. “We’ll go kill the bitch once and for all and then come back to celebrate?” she finished with a laugh. _Coward._

He chuckled, his deep voice reverberating through her bones. “You read my mind.”

“Then find your contact quickly,” she said biting her bottom lip. His eyes darted back to her lips as he leaned forward and kissed her hungrily. It was consuming. All over again she felt as though she were freefalling through thin air, her chest about to explode from the complete and utter joy she felt. It was like dying and living at the same time. She wanted to live in this moment, never let it go. The nervous thoughts she’d been harboring mere moments before were fading back into the darkness. When he pulled away, he pressed his lips to her forehead and made his way out the door, leaving her standing there with a ridiculous grin on her face.

“So Fenris, huh?” her mother said behind her.

Hawke jumped. “Mother, for the Maker’s sake don’t sneak up on me like that!”

Leandra laughed. “Oh, dear you are sensitive.”

Hawke growled something under her breath and moved past her giggling mother and back up the stairs to her bedroom.

***

“So let me get this straight,” Aveline said, rubbing her temples. “You want me to follow you tonight – with _no_ backup – to spy on the Qunari compound because of the rumors?”

Carver was sitting across from her as she shuffled through reports.

“Yes,” he said simply.

She sighed heavily. “If this is a waste of my time…”

“It won’t be,” he said.

“Did Meredith send you?”

“No. I’m acting alone, and as your friend.”

She nodded. “Fine, fine. I’ll meet you at the Docks tonight.”

***

Hawke pushed the door open to Anders’ clinic to find him frantically crossing the room, holding a mess of parchment, and shoving them in a tin barrel. He lit them with a simple fire spell and turned his heel, nearly crashing into Hawke.

“Whoa,” Hawke said with a chuckle. “Where’s the fire? Other than the one burning your mysterious parchment, that is.”

He sighed heavily, his eyes meeting hers. Something in him seemed to be breaking. “Not now, Hawke.”

“I thought we were…”

“Yes, yes, we were…” he said crossing the room again. “That was until I came back to find Templars outside my clinic. I managed to stay out of sight but I know they’ll be back. I can’t have them know.”

“Know what?”

He didn’t even glance at her as he sorted through a stack of parchment. “Nothing to worry over, Hawke.”

“Anders,” she said, moving toward him. But he pushed past her to shove more parchment in the flames. She crossed the room and placed her hand on his shoulder. He flinched away.

“Why don’t you go back to your mage-hating monstrosity of a lover?”

Hawke straightened. “ _Seriously?_ ”

“Seriously what?” he snapped, turning to face her finally. “He hates everything about magic, without question. He tore you apart for using it to _save_ him. Fenris will never see the wonder in your eyes as you cast a spell for the first time. He’ll never savor the joy that flashes across your face when you successfully heal someone, or the way your power flickers off of you when you’re angry. He’ll never understand the pull to the demons or spirits, and how it can keep you awake at night. He’ll never know how it feels to have the power to help someone and lose them anyway.” He moved towards her and reached out to take her hand. She jerked it away.

“Then you clearly don’t know him.”

“I don’t _have_ to know him,” he snapped. “His attitude towards magic alone should tell you enough. But the way he treated you about the blood magic…”

“Is none of your _business,_ ” she said with a warning tone.

“So you’re just going to forgive him?” he pressed.

“ _Yes,_ ” she said. “I am going to forgive him. You forget that he was _abused by mages._ He and I don’t always agree, but I can at least allow him a small bit of grace. Not only that, but he trusts me. He can finally trust a mage and…”

“And you _believed_ him?” Anders scoffed. “Are you blind or just _that_ stupid?”

She went rigid. “Clearly I’m both.”

His eyes softened. “Hawke,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, I…”

“I thought that you were my friend. You didn’t judge me for the blood magic or turn me away when I needed help with healing. You have been my friend through everything but now… you’re going to throw all that away for, what, jealousy? _Seriously?_ ” Hawke swallowed hard as she shook with anger. The air went very still.  

“Perhaps it’s best if we discontinue the healing lessons,” she said simply before ripping the door open and slamming it behind her.  

***

Carver sat with Aveline in an abandoned house just outside the Qunari compound. The sun had just gone down, and a cool breeze moved through the empty streets. Empty, save for a couple elves scampering home. He sat at the window, peering through the small cracks in the wood coverings. The Captain of the Guard sat across the room, her elbows resting on her knees.

“Carver,” she said, slowly lifting herself up. “We’ve been here for hours.”

“Just a little while longer,” he said, not even looking at her.

She scoffed and put her hands on her hips. “Fine. But I’m only doing this because of how you and your sister helped me over the years.”

Carver cringed and gripped his sword tightly. _Remember who you’re doing this for._ Right. He was doing this for his mother, and his sister. His sister who protected everyone she could. His sister who didn’t think he was strong enough to survive with her in the Deep Roads. His sister whose shadow shrouded his very existence. He took a deep breath. _It doesn’t matter now._

His heart nearly leaped out of his chest when he saw two Qunari agents step out of the compound.

“ _Aveline,_ ” he hissed. “They’re leaving.”

“Let’s move,” she whispered, strapping her sword to her back.

The two snuck out of the house and kept to the shadows as they followed far behind the agents.

“You know, I’m fairly certain taking Isabela would have been a better bet for sneaking,” Aveline whispered.

“Would you actually believe Isabela if _she_ were the one who went with me?”

Aveline sighed. “Fine. Oh, they're moving farther, let’s go.”

The agents turned slightly to scan their surroundings before disappearing into an alley. Carver clenched his teeth and moved close to the corner so he could peer around the side.

But they were gone.

“Carver,” Aveline said softly as he shifted slightly out of cover. “Wait…”

Suddenly a gray hand was around his mouth and a blade was at his throat. He tried to squirm free but came face-to-face with a third Qunari agent. _He was following behind them._

“Why are you following us, human?” the Qunari growled.

The hand that was clasped over his mouth released.

“First tell us why you’ve been sneaking around at night!” he said with as much force as he could muster.

“Foolish human. Are we not allowed to wander freely?”

Aveline eyed him. “I apologize, serah,” she said with a sigh. “He has clearly been misled. We mean you no disrespect. If you will allow us to depart, we will trouble you no further."

The Qunari nodded and the other two agents released them. Aveline grabbed Carver’s arm and pulled him down the road.

“Aveline, wait!” Carver said, ripping his arm from her grip. “You’re just going to give up?”

“Yes,” she said rather loudly. “This was a foolish endeavor, even for you. I will tell your superiors about this.” She turned her heel and marched down the road.

He chased after her. “Please, you have to…”

“ _Not_ another word, Carver,” she growled under her breath. “We will speak of this more at the Viscount’s Keep.”

He scowled as they made their way back to Hightown. His skin was rippling with anger. _How could she not see? They were_ clearly _hiding something._ He thought up all the arguments he could pose – and yet none of them seemed more sufficient than seeing the truth right in front of her.

Marching into her office, she shut the door behind them.

“Look, Aveline –”

“You were right,” she said suddenly. “That was very suspicious. I’m sorry for how I needed to treat the situation. If they had thought I suspected anything, we wouldn’t have made it out.”

Carver relaxed. “So you do…”

“ _Yes_. But we’re going to need far more than just us. We need to ask your sister.”

Carver stiffened. “…Right. My sister.”

She clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes. “Carver, you _know_ how serious this is. I’m glad you came to me, but she’s the only one we can absolutely count on.”

He crossed his arms. “So what do you plan to do?”

She sighed. “Well, unfortunately, we can’t officially do anything until we have enough proof for the Viscount. But I can inform my men and try to send in _actual_ spies to see if they can find anything. In the meantime, you should speak to Hawke.”

He clenched his fist but nodded. _Time to pay my dear sister a visit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the Anders angst. I didn't mean for it to happen but... ugh that mage, popping in out of nowhere. Either way, we're getting closer now!  
> Thanks for reading!


	22. The Demands of the Qun

“Carver,” Hawke said, surprised as she opened the door. “Where have you been? Mother said you were coming by and we were worried when you didn’t.”

Her brother sighed and crossed his arms. “Well, unfortunately, something came up and I need your help. Well… Aveline does. The Qunari have been acting suspicious lately and we can’t investigate them on our own. Apparently,” he added the last part under his breath.

She stepped aside to let him into the estate. His eyes were wide as he took in the height of the walls and the expanse of it all. Leandra stepped into the main room and let out a sharp cry as she beheld Carver. She made her way across the room and embraced her son, laughter bubbling from her mouth.

“I’m so glad to see you,” she sang. “Oh how I’ve missed you so!”

“Hello mother,” Carver said, rolling his eyes jokingly in Hawke’s direction.

Hawke chuckled. “If only you were as ecstatic whenever I came home, I might actually stay here more often.”

Leandra pulled away and scoffed. “Well, Marian, if you didn’t stumble home in the early hours of the morning I might actually _get_ the chance to see you once in a while.”

Hawke laughed. “Alright Carver, you have my attention. When do we meet with Aveline?”

“She said she’d be here as soon as possible. She’s alerting her men about the potential danger.”

“Potential danger?” Leandra said, brows furrowing. “What’s going on Carver? Mages?”

“Qunari,” he said, crossing his arms. His mother went rigid. “But don’t worry, we’re going to make sure the city is safe.”

“Wait,” Hawke said, putting one hand up. “Aveline has men? As in men or… _men_?”

“The other guards,” he replied. “While you were gone she became the Captain of the Guard.”

She put her hands on her hips and shook her head. “I’m never told these things - although I much rather preferred the idea of Aveline surrounded by a group of adoring menfolk.”

Carver shrugged. “Same thing, I suppose.”

Hawke smiled. In truth, she was happy to see her brother again. Regardless of his sour demeanor, she knew he cared enough about her and their mother. He wouldn’t be here asking for her help if he didn’t. She watched her brother and mother chatting and wandering into the next room, and she felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Bethany should have been here. Their father should have been here.

She sucked in a breath, trying not to imagine a world where her whole family was alive and well. Shaking away her thoughts, she turned to the fireplace. The roaring flames licked the air hungrily as the wood beneath it cracked. She hoped Fenris would be by soon.

As if on cue, someone rapped on the door.

Her lips curled back into a smile as she crossed the room to the door, nearly ripping open the door.

“Oh,” she said, her heart sinking slightly. “Aveline.”

The redhead raised an eyebrow. “Expecting an elf?”

Hawke chuckled. “You know now, too?”

“You should really be careful what you tell Varric.”

“What? I didn’t…” she sighed. “Anyway, Carver told me why you’re here. He’s in the other room.”

“Good, let’s get started then,” she said, making her way through the foyer.

Carver was already standing in the main room. “So, Aveline, are you guards prepared?”

“They are,” she said simply. “But first we need to gather proof. Then we can meet with the Viscount and finally the Arishok. It won’t be easy, but we can manage. The most important thing is that we remain prepared, and don’t set off the Arishok. Who knows what he’ll do if we say the wrong thing.”

Hawke nodded. “So how do we go about getting proof?”

“We’ll need to monitor their movements – I already have some of my men doing that. But ultimately, we need physical proof. Letters, battle strategies, _anything_ to suggest that they might be planning something.”

“Do you think they’d be planning an assault on the city of some kind?”

“I can’t be sure, but I’ve done some research on their relationship with Tevinter over the years – it didn’t give me much but none of it was good. And no one living under the Qun would stay this long unless it was absolutely dire.”

“Is that why I haven’t seen you that often?” Hawke laughed. “You’re too busy being Captain of the Guard and reading up on Qunari invasions?”

“Doesn’t leave much time for adventuring. In any event, there is another issue – one that was brought to my attention just this morning.”

“Oh?”

Aveline sighed. “The Qunari have been… taking converts. Criminals that we were meant to take in, but due to the sanctuary that the Viscount has allowed for the Qunari and all residing within the compound, we cannot arrest them. They murdered several of my guardsmen, and will not see justice. If people start thinking that they can just ignore the law… things will get out of hand.”

“Wasn’t the Viscount’s son one of those converts?”

“Indeed,” Aveline nodded. “But Seamus is with his father. We needn’t worry about his safety.”  

“So,” Hawke said, placing her hands on her hips. “We need to infiltrate the compound. But I’m going to need Isabela.”

Aveline threw a look at Carver.

“What?” he said with a scowl.

“Anyway,” Hawke said slowly, watching them with confusion. “I’ll get Isabela to come with me, and she and I will make our way into the compound to get what we need. You two will need to be our backup just in case things go sour – but you’ll need to be out of sight outside the compound.”

Aveline scoffed. “I’d hoped to never go back in that shack again. It smells of dead rat.”

Hawke crossed her arms. “I take it you both have already started surveillance?”

Carver rolled his eyes. “Yes, and we got caught.”

“Well, this time neither of you needs to leave that position unless things go to shit. I’ll gather Varric and Merrill, too.”

“What about Anders?” Aveline said. “If it comes down to it we’ll need him.”

Hawke pursed her lips. “I can ask but I wouldn’t count on his help. Merrill can stand in as our healer.” She pushed the thought of Anders to the back of her mind. Anger wasn’t going to fix anything, but she wasn’t about to go apologize to him.

“So do we meet tonight?” Carver said, snapping Hawke back to reality. 

“Did you watch them yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“Then no. We need to move in a few days. They’ll have extra patrols if they are, in fact, hiding something. Plus I need to go ask Isabela for help.”

“We can’t give them that much more time to plan,” Carver said, his brows furrowing. “They could strike at any minute!”

“We don’t know that,” Hawke said calmly. “And even if they did, the city guard is prepared. If the Arishok is even a little intelligent, he’d know not to attack if he thought we suspected something. He’d know that we might be prepared, and he’d lose a lot more soldiers. We have at least a day or so before.” She sighed. “I’ll go speak to everyone tonight. Everything is under control.”

Carver rolled his eyes. “Fine. I have a few more days left of my leave.”

“Bodahn,” Hawke called. “Show Carver to his room?”

“Of course, Messere.”

***

“Why not?” Hawke said, following Isabela through the Hanged Man.

“Because, sweet thing, I have a previous engagement,” she said. “And it’s not the kind of thing I can back out of.”

“But this could affect all of Kirkwall.”

She sighed. “Look, Hawke, I understand that it’s important but I need to follow a lead I have on Castillon. That’s a life or death situation – and I can’t just drop everything for a Qunari rumor.”

Hawke sighed. “Fine. Let me know if you find anything at least. But if we find anything, then will you help us?”

Isabela glanced at Hawke, her lips twitching slightly. After a long minute, she exhaled. “ _Fine._ I will help you if you find anything. I just – don’t particularly enjoy hanging around the Qunari. They’re so… _serious._ ”

Something in her brown eyes flickered and Hawke’s brows furrowed. Was there something she wasn’t telling her? Hawke didn’t expect Isabela to set everything aside for her, especially when there wasn’t gold involved, but she was being particularly stubborn about this.

“What about the Qunari?” Varric said suddenly beside them.

Hawke looked around, suddenly realizing how many ears were around. “Let’s go talk about it upstairs,” she replied. “But I am going to be in need of your roguish expertise.”

***

Varric snuck quietly ahead of Hawke through the dark alleyways of the Docks. His footsteps whispered across the pavement, and she tried desperately to copy them exactly. Her foot moved forward slightly and kicked a small rock, sending it flying and hitting the wall next to them with a _crack._ Varric turned slowly and raised a single eyebrow.

Hawke grinned at him sheepishly and shrugged. He snickered and they continued on. Varric wasn’t exactly the stealthiest person, but it was better than coming with Aveline or Carver. Their armor could be heard from blocks away.

The Qunari compound rose up above them, the only visible entrance a wooden gate that they had built when they moved in. Hawke bit her lip in hesitation and her eyes met Varric’s. He motioned for her to follow him and they quietly made their way down the side alley, cloaked by the safety of darkness.

There were stacks of crates in the far corner of the alley, and they climbed their way up them, the stack just tall enough for Hawke to reach the top of the wall. She huffed as she pulled herself up, sitting down and lowering her staff so Varric could climb up, too. Hawke peered over the edge of the compound and grimaced. There was no roof, just solid walls on all sides of the compound. But there was nothing close that they could climb down. Varric pointed forward, and she followed his finger to the other side of the compound that had a wooden platform that circled around one side of the compound. _Most likely meant for surveillance and ranged weapons._ Even still, they would need to scale across the top of the wall to even get there. She pressed her lips together and looked down. It would be too far of a fall.

She turned to Varric, but worry wasn’t written anywhere on his face. _This damned dwarf._

He moved forward slightly and gripped the wall before lowering himself down. Hawke stifled a gasp. His hands were still gripping the wall as he hung from the other side and began shifting himself across the edge – invisible to anyone who might be searching for them.

Something moved and caught her eye. A Qunari guard.

Quickly gripping the wall and lowering herself on the other side, she looked over the edge just enough to see that he hadn’t noticed them. _You’d think they would station more guards around the perimeter._ It was a semi tight fit with the building next to them, but it was large enough that she could slip through. The two scaled the wall silently. By the time they were halfway across the wall, Hawke’s fingers and arms were screaming. She bit her lip, trying not to think about it.

“Remind me to rule out a career in espionage,” Hawke hissed at Varric. “I don’t think I’m cut out for it.”

He let out a soft chuckle and shook his head.

When they reached the other side, they both lifted themselves slightly to peek over the edge. The Qunari guard was walking back down the platform towards them. They both slipped back out of sight and she bit her lip. Her arms were going to be sore tomorrow.

They listened carefully. The guard was stepping softly past them and suddenly stopped. The air went still around them. There was a step toward them. She eyed Varric. He simply shook his head, a bead of sweat running down his forehead. Another step. She could hear his breath.

She rolled her eyes. _Enough of this shit_. She closed her eyes and concentrated. She’d only tested this spell a few times – but it was their only shot. A brush of magic started at her fingertips and moved across her skin until it stretched down her abdomen and up her neck. She opened her eyes. Varric’s eyes were darting around where she was. Or, where she was supposed to be.

Cloaked in her magic, Hawke lifted herself and carefully teetered over the side of the wall and stepped lightly down to the platform. The Qunari guard was looking around wildly. Hawke smirked as she shadowed behind him, careful not to breathe too hard. The Qunari raised his spear and got into position to fight. She choked down a laugh at the sweat that was rolling down his neck. With a swift motion, she clamped a gloved hand over his mouth and pushed a knife to his back.

“Shhh,” she hushed.

Varric caught the hint and pulled himself up, cloaked in shadows as well. They hauled him over to a dark corner and hit him across the head, knocking him out. The fade cloak she had on started to disintegrate, and she bit her lip. She really needed to practice that skill more.

“Well,” Hawke whispered. “That’s not exactly how I wanted this to go.”

“No,” Varric sighed. “Let’s go grab what we need and get out of here before anyone finds him.”

She nodded. They pushed him behind a stack of crates. It was enough for now. They hurried down the platform. She frowned. There weren’t many Qunari on patrol. _That’s really strange._

They wandered along the side of the compound. There were groups of tents on one side – presumably for sleeping – and the other side, separated by a single wall, led up to where she could only assume the Arishok sat. It was a mighty throne, even in such a small location. There was a tent on the other side of the compound that looked promising. A Qunari symbol had been painted on the opening flaps of the tent, and it wasn’t made of the same fabric as the rest of the tents. _Either the Arishok is in there or something of substance._  

When they finally reached the tent, Hawke slowly lifted one flap with two fingers and peered inside. _Empty, save for a desk._ She had guessed correctly. She nodded to Varric and slipped inside. The tent smelled musty. She stepped across to the table, which was covered in stacks of papers. All in Qunlat. Hawke let out a sigh. She had brought a pad of paper in case this happened, but she realized that she might not have time to copy down enough to translate later… Something in the papers caught her eye. She pushed the others aside and pulled out the piece of parchment. A letter written in the common tongue.

_Most esteemed Arishok,_

_Greetings._

_You have been in contact with my cousin, Nichole, concerning the return of the Tome of Koslun. I regret to inform you that while en route to Gwaren from Orlais, the caravan was attacked by thieves and the tome itself was missing as well._

_Most of the thieves escaped but we were able to capture one of them and interrogate him. It seems that they plan on sailing aboard the Siren’s Call with the tome to Tevinter, led by Captain Isabela, a notorious criminal. If you require assistance capturing this thief, we are prepared to aid you in any way necessary._

_Yours respectively,_

_Ser Rylen Gattis_

Hawke’s head spun. _Isabela? She is the reason they are here? If they truly came here looking for her… that would make sense why she would not come tonight. The Arishok would kill her._ And she had selfishly kept this information from them. They could have worked together and retrieved the tome for the Qunari.

 _The relic she was after… I wonder…_  

She stuffed the letter in her pocket. She would be having words with the thief later. Stealing from the Qunari was… well. Foolish even for her. She pushed her way out of the tent and eyed the compound. _Still quiet._   

 _And why wouldn’t they be patrolling? Unless…_ She heard footsteps.

“Varric,” she whispered, halting in place. “I think something is wrong.”

Varric looked up at her as though his mind had just made the same conclusion. 

“Of that you are correct,” a thick, powerful voice said, echoing through the compound.  

“Shit,” Varric hissed. Several Qunari stepped from the shadows, followed by their speaker – the largest Qunari Hawke had ever seen. His horns were a crown upon his head, white hair hanging down his neck. He was adorned in red armor that revealed his bare chest, brown leather strapped across his grey skin. He walked with a sense of pride as he approached them. The hair on the back of her neck stood up as he looked down at her. There were no emotions hidden anywhere on his face. He was stone-cold, deadly, and ready to take down anything in his way.

“The Arishok, I presume,” she said, tight-lipped as her eyes scanned the group of Qunari gathered around them.

“And who might you be? A thief in the night, armed with nothing but magic and a dwarf?”

“Very lost,” she said with an uneasy grin, shrugging her shoulders. “You know how these streets are at night. One minute you’re headed to the Hanged Man, the next thing you know you’re in the Qunari compound.”

“You are not a very good liar,” the Arishok said.   

“And you are very perceptive,” she said with a laugh.

“Why are you here, human?”

She crossed her arms. Maybe it was foolish but… “There are rumors going around that you are not truly planning on leaving Kirkwall anytime soon. Your ship crashed ages ago, and you could have been well on your way back to Par Vollen by now.”

“What concern is that of yours?”

She shrugged.  

The Arishok scoffed and began to slowly pace in front of them. “There is a _sickness_ in this city. You humans are numb to it, only stopping to look at the problem when your meal is interrupted.”

“And you plan on curing us of this sickness?”

“We did not come equipped to indoctrinate,” the Arishok said, his voice clipped. “I am here to satisfy a command you cannot understand.”

“And I imagine it could take a long time?”

“It will take as long as needed,” he snapped, more venom spilling into his voice. “No ship is coming. There is no rescue from duty to the Qun.”

Hawke frowned.  

“We are _stuck_ here.”

“And yet I’m not sure that is the understanding of the city leaders.”

“Is that why you have come?” he snarled. “To spy for leaders with no willpower of their own?”

She pressed her lips together, feeling more uneasy as he spoke.  

“Let them rot,” he said, his voice further evolving into a deep growl. “Filth stole from us. Years ago. A simple act of greed has bound me. We are all denied Par Vollen until I alone recover what was lost under my command. That is why I cannot simply walk from this pustule of a city.”

He turned his back to them, but she could feel the furious energy boiling beneath his skin from several feet away.

“Fixing _your mess_ is _not_ the demand of the Qun,” he said, turning back quickly to them. “And you should all be grateful!”

Hawke stiffened, not hiding the fear that flashed across her face.  

The Arishok took a deep breath and seemed to relax as he folded his hands behind his back. “Now that you understand, I am afraid that I cannot let you leave. You have broken the agreement that the Viscount created.”

“Well, most _esteemed_ Arishok, I do hope you find what you are looking for,” Hawke said, relaxing her face into a sly smile. The Arishok nodded to her and then looked at the guards behind them. “Varric?”

“Yes Hawke…?” Varric said, his throat bobbing.  

“Move.”  

The two sprang forward, ducking under arms and spears swinging in their direction. Varric shot several before they ran back up the platform, guards following close behind. A set of guards jumped in front of them, blocking a quick getaway.

Throwing several spells at the guards, her fire managed to knock several of them back. One approached her from behind, twin knives ready to strike. She flung the blade of her staff around and sliced him across the abdomen and twirled it behind her to kick him off the ledge. A few more swung at her and she ducked low, shoving one in front of the other. A fireball curled and licked the air within the palm of her hand. She shot the Qunari closest to her. The burst pushed them both back and they tumbled over the edge. A guard grabbed her from behind and sunk a blade deep into her side. She cried out at the searing pain. She kicked fiercely and whipped her head back, hitting him in the nose. He cried out and she managed to land her feet on the ground. His hands gripped a fistful of her hair and tugged her back, leaving her neck exposed as he brought his blade to the skin. Only one arm holding her, she wrenched one arm free and lit his skin on fire. A scream ripped through him. She then elbowed him in the stomach and her heel smashed down on his foot. With his grip loosened, she flipped him over her shoulder, using his own weight against him. He tumbled over the side. Her blue eyes flashed over to the dwarf. Varric had managed to push most of them back as well. But it wasn’t enough.    

Hawke took a deep breath. Aveline had warned only to signal them if it was an emergency. _Well, I suppose this counts._ She swung her staff around and shot a blast of light up into the night sky.

Within seconds, the compound door was shoved open. She only caught a flash of white hair before the figure’s skin glowed to life.

“Varric, go!” she shouted. They both fought their way down the platform again, Hawke in the lead. A Qunari spearman sliced through the air, and she saw red as the skin across her nose ripped open. Gritting her teeth, she stabbed the blade on her staff forward, cutting deep within the Qunari. She shoved him back and marched into the fray, pissed and bloody. Fenris had been followed by Aveline, Carver, and Merrill. She shoved her way through the Qunari swinging wildly at her until she reached Fenris.

“Come to join the party, then?” she called over the noise, her back to him.

A growl ripped from his throat in response as his blade sliced forward through several guards. One of them knocked the elf back, and another moved to stab downward. Hawke jumped forward and blocked the Qunari’s spear with her staff. His eyes were ablaze as he stared down at her. Mindless, blank eyes filled nothing but the need to control. She shoved him back and threw ice forward, freezing him on the spot. She pulled Fenris up, and another guard sliced at them, cutting deep into his leg. With a twist of her staff, she stabbed the guard and swung around, hitting him over the head. Looking back at Fenris, she saw him grit his teeth. The cut was deep. They needed to get out, and fast.

Hawke took a deep breath and stepped forward, hitting several Qunari back. Fire built within her abdomen, rippling across her skin. Using the staff as her focus, she channeled all of the energy into the wood.

“Duck!” she shouted to Fenris. His eyes flashed to her, her burning staff the only real warning before he complied. She swung her staff around her head and shot the spell high. Balls of fire rained from the air above them, the ground beneath them shaking as each landed.

“RUN!” she shouted to them all. The group followed her out of the compound, running as fast as they could away from the docks.

Hawke’s entire body was screaming in pain, but there was only one thing on her mind.

The Qunari were going to attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School always has a way of getting in the way of posting... but I managed to get this chapter finished! Thank you guys so much for reading and leaving kudos/comments. You keep me writing!
> 
> Next up, Hawke earns her title as Champion... and it's not exactly sticking with the canon storyline.
> 
> EDIT: SORRY about the weird note at the end of that. My computer was being weird.


	23. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke battles the Arishok. Meanwhile, Fenris searches for Hadriana.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Smut and violence.

The door to Anders’ clinic sprung open, and the group piled in. Anders stood up abruptly from his desk, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Maker’s breath, what happened?” he said, hurrying over to Hawke, whose arms were slung over both Fenris and Carver. She could barely keep her eyes open. There was so much blood.

Anders reached for her, despite Fenris’ growl issuing a warning to the mage. He pulled her over to the table. Merrill stepped quickly to his side. “I need some herbs and lyrium, Merrill,” Anders said, his tone dark. “And someone please get the gauze from the other side of the room.” Both Carver and Merrill nodded and left the table.

“Is anyone else in need of healing?” he said, scanning the group. His eyes locked onto Varric who looked fairly bruised. The dwarf simply shrugged.

“I’ll get by,” he said with a chuckle.

Merrill was suddenly at his side again with a few glass bottles and elfroot. Anders nodded and got to work. She looked across the table at Fenris and frowned.

“Fenris,” she said, “you’re bleeding, too.”

“It’s fine,” he said, his eyes not meeting hers – they were only fixed on Hawke.

She made her way around the table and took his arm. He shirked away from her, his natural scowl deepening. “I will be fine,” he growled.  

Merrill sighed. “ _Not_ if you bleed out. I won’t touch you, I promise. But please let me help. For Hawke’s sake, if nothing else.”

Fenris’ eyes softened. He nodded slowly and she led him to the table across the room. He winced as Merrill’s magic came to life, the warmth murmuring across his skin. She was being surprisingly gentle. He watched as Anders pulled his magic across Hawke, her face still pale.

“It’s good that you came when you did,” Merrill said. “I don’t really know what would have happened if we hadn’t all been there.”

Fenris grimaced. He’d been waiting for the human child down by the Docks when he heard something strange coming from the Qunari compound. He’d found Aveline and all the rest of them waiting by the door, listening from outside the entrance, waiting for her signal.

Hawke let out a strangled gasp across the way. Without thought, he jumped from the table to her side, ignoring Merrill’s protests.

“Marian,” he breathed, his eyes scanning her. The color was back in her cheeks and her wounds were healed. He let out a sigh of relief as he claimed her lips. Her fingers hooked around the side of his armor, pulling him close. Her tongue slipped quickly over his, and he shivered. A warmth grew deep within his abdomen and he gently pulled away. _Later._

Her eyes met his, the blue darkening as her face spread into a seductive grin. Her expression dropped as she took in the other people in the room. “Not every day you get to run from rampaging Qunari, huh?”

His jaw locked. Some small part of him cringed at the thought of all the Qunari he’d just killed. They weren’t the Fog Warriors, and yet…

“What happened?” he said.

“Oh, just snooping around in business that has nothing to do with me hoping that it will all be for the greater good. The usual,” she said with a chuckle, sitting up. Anders tried to protest, but Hawke shot the mage a strange look before facing Fenris head-on. “We were checking to see if the Qunari posed a threat.”

“A threat?”

“Yes,” she replied. “There have been rumors about them acting strangely and Aveline needed my help to find out if they needed to intervene or not.”

“So she sent you into a den of lions – alone – because of a rumor?”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “I had Varric with me.”

“And the dwarf certainly made the difference in the end. You could have simply held an audience with the Arishok to discuss the rumors. He might have even held you in high respect.”

“Look, it doesn’t matter now. The Qunari are posing a threat and now we have evidence as to why.”

“So you did find something?” Carver said, suddenly beside them.

Hawke pressed her lips together and pulled the letter from her pocket and handed it to him. Carver’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Isabela did this?” he said finally.

“Yes. She stole the Tome of kos–something.”

“Koslun?” Fenris said, frowning. “She _stole_ their most sacred text?” _No wonder the Qunari would not leave._ The pirate was a good person, he admitted. After all, she had saved him – and many people who were on their way to becoming slaves. But this would bring destruction to Kirkwall – not that she really cared. Not that _he_ really cared either, but he knew it mattered to Hawke.  

Hawke cocked her head to the side – a question.

“Well, whatever it is, it appears we need to go to her first.”

“No,” Aveline said across the room. “That woman will only be looking out for herself. We need to see the Viscount about all of this before we do anything.”

“I’ll leave that to you, Aveline,” Hawke said, lifting herself off of the healing table. She glanced at Fenris before taking his armored hand. “I need to go… check on my mother and prepare for the war we may have just started. Then I’ll deal with Isabela.”  

***

Hawke made her way to the alley, Fenris walking quietly behind her as they made their way through the Amell basement. The kiss he’d given her was still lingering on her lips. Was he angry that she got hurt? Or just relieved? The look in his eyes had said both, but she imagined she would never hear the end of it. Once the door was shut, she felt his hand grip her waist and suddenly he flipped her with her back pressed against the wall. Her heart pounded in her chest as he leaned down and kissed her neck. _Here?_ There was a torch lit just on the other side of the room beside the stairwell up to the main estate. Next to that were other crates of random things and an old table the previous tenants had left that her mother had stored down here. She supposed no one would hear them upstairs. Outside in Darktown, however… _well_. That thought made her shiver with excitement. His lips lingered over hers, his breath whispering against her before kissing her deeply. A growl grew in his throat as she wrapped her arms around his neck and parted her lips, her tongue brushing against his. Something hard was pushed against her. She pulled away, breathless, and pressed a chaste kiss on his lips. “Miss me already?” she murmured.  

He barely chuckled before pulling her back hungrily. She hooked her legs around him and he pressed his burning length against her. _Always with the walls,_ she snickered to herself. His hands gripped her ass as she ground against him, and she could feel her own wetness pooling below. He pulled her away from the wall and carried her to the table. Ripping his spiked gauntlets from his hands, he started undoing the battlemage armor that was still strapped to her. She fumbled through hurriedly with his armor, scorching need filling her. Her heart was racing as he dropped the final piece of armor. She tore her shirt and bindings off before he was suddenly flush against her again. His lips and tongue traced down her neck and his teeth grazed her collarbone. She let out a sharp gasp.

Fenris pushed her flat onto the table and his mouth trailed down her. She shivered as she watched him sink lower and pull her legs over his shoulders. He was animalistic, his own desire radiating off his skin as his markings began to glow. His eyes locked with hers and she bit her lip. He dipped his tongue down into her entrance, running it along her clit. Her breath hitched as a small moan rose in her throat. His tongue flicked eagerly, and she felt the heat building. She’d half a mind to make him stop there so he could fuck her senseless. He sucked her gently and her hands flew down to his hair, gripping him against her as she groaned. Pleasure rippled through her as he flicked his tongue harder against her.  

“Fuck!” she cried out, shattering. He lifted his lips from her and pressed them to the skin of her thighs. She pulled him close, his lips reddened, and kissed him deeply. She grasped at his hips and kissed the shell of his ear, her teeth grazing it. Her body was still longing for him – as if it would ever truly be satisfied. _Not likely._ The glow from his markings brightened. “I need you,” she whispered. His eyes widened.  

“ _Fenedhis,_ ” he growled.

He pressed his aching length against her, teasing her entrance – her clit still dangerously sensitive. She bit her lip and mouthed, _please_ before he slid deep into her, crying out. He pushed her back onto the table and slipped his thumb down to massage her clit. Her mind went completely blank as the fire grew deep within her again. She rolled her hips and he groaned as he rocked against her, his rhythm achingly slow.

“ _Andraste’s tits,_ ” Hawke gasped. She wanted to stay in that moment. Not worry about anything outside, not the Qunari, not the slavers that were after him. Her head sank back against the table as she moaned. He chuckled darkly and his hips snapped against her, the table beneath them creaking loudly. His thumb continued to circle her clit and she moaned louder, not caring for who outside might hear. Their rhythm quickened and her climax rose up again. Fenris’ face twisted with pleasure and they cried out as they both came apart.

Panting, Fenris slowly lifted out of her and helped her up. He pulled her into a searing kiss, and she could taste the salt of his sweat. She moaned slightly in his mouth and smiled. He pressed his forehead to hers.

“We should probably go upstairs to check on your mother.”

She sighed. “Right. The Qunari problem… I had almost forgotten.”

The two made their way upstairs to find that her mother was sound asleep in her room. That gave Hawke some sense of relief – though she would need to wake her before she left. Maker knew what the next day would bring, but she was not about to lose anyone else.

***

“Fenris,” Hawke said once they had cleaned themselves off a while later, “when we were discussing the Qunari… you seemed to know quite a bit about the Qunari. Have you encountered them before? In Tevinter, perhaps?”

Hawke waited for him to reply as she made her way to the kitchen and began pouring them two glasses of wine. She handed him a goblet and sat down at the table. He wasn’t sure what to say. It had been so long ago, and yet the pain still ached. Sitting beside her, he took a long drink of wine. The pregnant silence rang in his ears.

“I’ve never told you the story of how I escaped,” he said suddenly. Hawke shook her head. “I assume you’ve heard of Seheron – The Imperium and the Qunari have fought over the island for centuries. I was there with Danarius during a Qunari attack. Afterward, our ship collided with something and began to sink. We made it to the shore, but barely had any supplies to stay for very long – but it would be a while before we could send word back to the Imperium. Danarius sent me and a couple other slaves to go find water, and we stumbled upon a group of men in the jungle called Fog Warriors. The other two slaves ran, but I did not. The Fog Warriors took me in, and I gladly stayed with them for a time. Until Danarius finally came for me.”

“I imagine he wasn’t too happy about his property being treated fairly,” Hawke said.

Fenris nodded. “I’d grown… fond… of the rebels. They bowed to no master and fought for their freedom. It was beyond my experience. When Danarius came, they refused to let him take me.” He took another drink of wine, the memories clawing at him in the back of his mind. “Danarius ordered me to kill them. So I did. I… killed them all.” He rubbed his forehead. 

Hawke’s face went slack. “You _killed_ them? Why?”   

“It felt inevitable,” he said slowly. “My master had returned and this… this _fantasy_ life was over.” His face darkened. “But once it was done, I looked down at their bodies. I felt… I couldn’t… when we returned to the Imperium, I decided that I would not do it any longer. I ran. And never looked back.”

“Didn’t he try to stop you?”

“I slipped away in the middle of the night, managed to steal some coin, and boarded an unmarked ship before dawn. Isabela’s ship.”

“So that’s how you know each other.”

He nodded. He watched as Hawke studied her wine, and she got a faraway look in her eyes. She looked almost… sad.

“Hawke?” he said, reaching for her hand. Her head jerked up.

“It’s nothing, I just…” she let out a sigh. “Actually, no. There is something that I need to tell you. Something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while.”

He frowned but waited.

“So, do you remember the day that we met?” she said, her eyes locking onto his.

“Yes,” he said. “I had Anso hire you to help me with the slavers.”

“Right,” she said, biting her lip nervously. “Well, you see…”

Suddenly there was a crash from the other room. Hawke frowned and stood up from the table to go investigate. Following behind her, they went out to the main hall to find Carver stumbling in through the foyer holding a bottle of something.

“Sssister,” he slurred. “How n-nice of you to be here.”

“Carver,” she sighed. “You’re getting drunk at this hour? What in Andraste’s name are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that y-you are a _hypocrite._ You get drunk _all_ the time,” he hiccupped.

She rolled her eyes. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

They both carried him upstairs to his room and tucked him into bed. Hawke stayed by his side and made him drink an entire glass of water before she let him sleep. The room he was staying in was incredibly stuffy, and Hawke moved to open the window. The moon was bright and covered nearly the entire room with its silver light. He watched Hawke as she moved back toward him, the night breeze making her hair flutter slightly, and felt his breath hitch. She smiled at him and led them out of the room, shutting the door.

“So,” he said slowly. “What were you going to tell me?”

Hawke pressed her lips together, that same fear reappearing across her face.

“Actually,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll tell you some other time. I’m exhausted.”

He reached for her and pulled her close to him, kissing her forehead. She sank into him and he felt as though his heart were going to burst from his chest.   

***

The next day, Fenris waited outside his mansion for the child, Jerry. Some part of him felt bad for relying on the child to seek out information for him, but he knew that the child was living better because of his coin. He pressed his lips together as he crossed his arms. The sun had steadily risen overhead and he sighed. _He should be here by now._

As if on cue, he heard small footsteps scampering up the steps nearby. The small child ran around the corner.

“Messere!” he said, panting. “They’s been spotted. Stole several reports from the guards. They’s up by the caves on the Wounded Coast.”

The boy handed the elf a map of the Wounded Coast, with a cave to the east circled.

“Thank you,” Fenris said, dropping several coins in the boy’s grubby hands.

“I got more, if you want,” the boy said slyly.

Fenris raised one eyebrow. “Which is?”

The boy held out his hand and Fenris rolled his eyes before dropping another silver in his hands.

“I saw one of ‘em,” he said. “The lady you tol’ me about. She was leavin’ the city this mornin’.”

The elf’s brows knitted together. “Thank you, child. You can go, now.”

The boy nodded. But as he was leaving, something occurred to the elf.

“Jerry,” Fenris said quickly.

Jerry stopped mid-step and turned back around.

“Take this and get your friends out of the city today,” he said, stepping back to the boy and dropping a few gold pieces. The boy looked confused. “These streets aren’t safe. You’ll be safer out there.”

“I s’pose we could find a farm out there,” the boy said.

Fenris nodded. “Do that.”

The boy nodded and scurried off. Fenris wasn’t sure if he was going to listen, but part of him didn’t want to imagine what would happen to the children of Darktown if the Qunari did attack soon. He shuddered.

Strapping his greatsword to his back, he made his way to the Hawke estate. He knew she had other things on her mind, but they would only be gone a few hours.

Rapping on the door a few times, he waited patiently. Bodahn likely heard him but was just taking his sweet time. He heard something crash inside and frowned. Reaching for the door handle, he jumped as the door swung open.

“Oh, hello Fenris,” Carver said with a grin that took Fenris back a little bit. The younger Hawke rarely smiled – this was new. “My sister’s not here if that’s who you’re after.”

“Ah,” he said, crossing his arms. She was likely meeting with Isabela right now, anyway.

“Something wrong?” Carver asked.

“Nothing,” the elf said, rubbing his forehead. “It’s just… I found out the location of Hadriana. Hawke agreed to help me and I had hoped not to go alone. Thank you anyway.” He began to turn from the estate.

“Wait,” Carver said suddenly. “I could always go with you? My sister isn’t the only one who can help, after all.”

Fenris nodded. “I would appreciate that.”

Carver smiled and pulled out his own greatsword from beside the door.

“Let’s go kick some slaver ass.”        

***

Isabela was gone. Hawke gritted her teeth as she held a letter in her hand. The pirate had found the tome and run far from Kirkwall. Rage simmered within her blood, and flames ignited from her fingertips, turning the letter to ash. The people of the Hanged Man were staring at her, but she didn’t give a shit. Most people in Kirkwall knew she was an apostate – hiding it had always been more of a formality. She tightened the straps of her new armor. Several weeks prior she went to the Wounded Coast with the group to defeat a dragon in the Bone Pit – and had found the armor hidden away in one of the chests. She remembered Varric snickering about the dragon protecting pretty dresses instead of traditional treasure.

The armor itself was nicer than her normal mage robes, though. It consisted of dark leather and fur. Her chest piece was partially metal that jutted out but mostly a thick cloth, the same material used for the pants clinging firmly to her legs that were also covered in tall, spiked boots. One arm had a spiked pauldron strapped to it that connected to a single spiked gauntlet, while the other arm was mostly bare aside from the leather piece covering most of her hand and forearm. She sighed and pulled out a coin from the leather pouch strapped to her leg and hip and set it on the counter for the bartender. He slid her a tall drink and she gulped it down in a few seconds. She hated the swill here, but it did the job.    

“So she’s really gone?” Varric said beside her.

“Yes,” she snapped. “And now we must go fix the problem she left us with.”

Hawke pushed her way out of the tavern, only to smack into the guard-captain. Aveline’s eyes were wide as she gripped Hawke’s shoulders.

“Hawke you have to come with me. The Qunari… there’s something going on in the compound.”

“Let’s move then.”

Varric followed behind them as they marched down to the Docks, unsure what to expect. They had made it part of the way there when they heard shouting and the clanking of swords. The women shared a look before breaking out into a run. They turned the corner and watched as several groups of Qunari marched, cutting down those who fought them off.

It was beginning.  

“They’re headed towards Hightown,” Aveline said, pointing at fire glowing in the distance.

“Well they certainly wasted no time,” Hawke quipped.

“We need to get up there,” the guard said. “If they take the Viscount’s Keep, they take the city.”

The Qunari came in waves as they climbed up the roads to Hightown. Flashes of grey skin covered in crimson flooded Hawke’s vision, her skin burning from the conjured flames that shot through the streets. Whether it was fury or the instinct to protect, Hawke wasn’t sure. And she wasn’t sure she cared enough to worry. They wanted to sack her city, leave it burning as the darkspawn had all those years ago.

A Qunari mage – or a Saarebas, as they called them – stood before them. Fire and ice shot from her fingers, disabling the mage. Aveline and Varric watched her back as she walked toward him. The mage straightened before issuing a powerful mind blast, throwing her across the courtyard. She hit the pavement, her back singing with pain. She clenched her teeth as she stood back up. She lifted her staff and quickly shot bolt after bolt of lightning. His body hit the wall behind him before she finally slammed a large wave against him, knocking him out. It was enough to let them continue on.

As they turned the corner, Hawke slammed into someone. Grimacing she looked up to see Anders, worry covering his face. Beside him was Merrill.

“Thank the Creators you’re alright,” Merrill lilted, hugging Hawke tightly. “We weren’t sure so we’ve been scouring the city to find you.

“And taking down some Qunari bastards along the way,” Anders said. “Are you alright?”

Hawke nodded. “Yes, and I might need your help. We need to get up to the keep before the Arishok takes the city.”

Anders nodded. “We’re behind you all the way, Hawke.” He gave her a sad smile – almost an apology. She returned the smile. _We can discuss this later_ , she wanted to say. He had been an asshole, and she wasn’t quite ready to forgive him of that, but he was her friend and he’d had her back this whole time – even if he went about it the wrong way.  

She motioned to her friends and they followed her up to the steps of Hightown.

“Time to pay the Arishok a visit,” she said.

The stepped across the courtyard below the Keep and saw a lone Qunari warrior running at an elven mage. It was Orsino, the grand enchanter of the Kirkwall Circle. The warrior raised his sword and swung down at the elf, who used his staff to block the hit. Hawke broke into a run and threw a fire spell at the warrior, knocking him back a few yards. Orsino cast a glance her way and threw several more spells at the warrior.

When it was over, the mage sighed heavily and turned to her. He had greying hair but barely had any wrinkles lining his skin. She wondered how elves managed to grow old without ever looking that old.  

“Thank you,” he said. “You’re… Hawke right? Carver’s sister?”

She nodded.

He laughed and shook his head. “An apostate with a templar brother. Anyway, are you here to help?”

“Yes,” she said. “I have business with Arishok.”

“Which is?”

“He tried to kill me and my friends,” she said, crossing her arms. “Not something I can easily forgive.”

“Understandable. But first, we need to get up there.”

“You’re right,” a woman said behind them. _Meredith._

The knight-commander crossed over to them, several templars in tow behind her. One such templar she assumed was Cullen – Carver had told her about him. His eyes looked almost hollow. _He’s seen some shit_. _No wonder Carver gets along with him._ It was a trait they seemed to share, though. It was hard for her to befriend anyone who still thought the world was all sunshine and rainbows. She grimaced.

“We can work together and cripple the army,” the knight-commander said. “We can do that through a show of force.”  

Orsino rolled his eyes. “Brute strength does not always help,” he said. “We’d likely lose more people.”

She glared at the elf.

“Orsino is right,” Aveline chimed in. “My guards can help along the sidelines but I am not willing to send them into a slaughter.”

“Fine,” Meredith said. “Does anyone have any other ideas?”

“We could distract them,” Orsino said. “And sneak our soldiers past the main gates. If we can take down the leader, we may be able to win this.”

“Do you really think they would easily be distracted?” the knight-commander griped.

Hawke crossed her arms. “Orsino has a point. It wouldn’t be fool-proof, but it would be enough.”

Meredith glared at her but conceded. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

***

 Fenris and Carver walked together up the dirt road miles from the city. The wind whipped past them, sand shifting beneath their feet.

“I want to thank you for joining me,” Fenris said, breaking the silence. “I had hoped Hawke would help, but I imagine the negotiations are a bit more pressing than my revenge.”

“Don’t say that, Fenris,” Carver said. “We both know my sister would be here if she could. Either way, I’m happy to kill some slavers with you.”

Fenris’ face curled into a half smile. “Maybe if it doesn’t work out with the Templars, you can join me in ridding this world of their filth.”

Carver laughed. “Perhaps. I doubt Knight-Commander Meredith would let me go that easily.”

“That’s right, you were considered a prodigy,” the elf said. “Yet, even still, it is your life. You are free to choose what you wish to do with it.” He wasn’t sure if he was saying that more for Carver or himself. He was rarely able to believe it fully – one day it would be easier.

Carver raised an eyebrow. “You’ll be free after this, Fen. We’ll find her.”

“Wait,” Fenris said, holding his arm out to stop his companion. “Did you see that?”

A dark figure in the distance was running away from them.

“Is that?” Carver said, his brows furrowing.

“Run, they’re getting away,” Fenris hissed, breaking into a sprint.

The two warriors ran forward and watched as the figure ran into a cave. They neared the mouth of it and Fenris slowed his pace. “This may be an ambush,” he said. Carver squinted into the darkness.

“You may be right,” he said, putting his hands on his hips. “But if we leave now, it’s likely she’ll get away.”

Fenris nodded. “But is it worth the risk? I will not die before I pull out that bitch’s heart.”

Carver pressed his lips together. “I don’t know, I think we can take them. With my templar abilities and your… glowy… thing, we’ll be unstoppable.” His face spread into a grin.

Fenris chuckled lightly and drew his blade from his back. “Well, here goes nothing.”

The two men entered the cave, padding softly as they held out their weapons. The cave was pitch black, but it seemed to stretch on for a while. There was a soft glow of light at the other end, and Fenris bit his lip. As they neared the light, Fenris stopped and lowered his weapon. They stepped around a large boulder that stood in their way. There was no one at the end. A torch was lit and hanging off of the wall. The elf bent down and touched the sand-covered ground. There weren’t even traces of steps back here. The cave became eerily quiet.

“Carver,” he said, standing up, “I think we need to… argh!” Cold metal clamped around his neck. His markings lit up wildly as he whipped around. Chains. He was in… chains. He looked up at Carver, who was holding on to the other end. He growled and reached for his weapon when suddenly an invisible force clamped his arms at his sides. Carver sidestepped around him and yanked his sword out before casting it across the cave, then clamped his wrists behind him with shackles.  

“Carver,” Fenris said through clenched teeth, his eyes burning.

Carver said nothing as he stepped back in front of him. Fenris’ eyes widened. Carver’s eyes were almost… lifeless. There was no light. He just stared blankly at him. A figure stepped out from behind the boulder – and Fenris felt he was going to be sick.

“Hadriana,” he hissed.

The mage, lips painted a deep red, flashed a dark smile. “Hello, Fenris. It has been a while. Come, Carver, we must bring this slave back to his master.”

Carver didn’t nod. He didn’t even blink. He just turned his heel and yanked Fenris along.

***

The sun warmed Hawke’s back as she stepped up to the entrance of the Viscount’s Keep. There was a crowd of nobles around them, all watching in horror as the Arishok stood before them. Several of the Viscount’s guards were running at him, prepared to cut him down. With a mighty swing, he brought down a large battle-axe, slicing one of them in half as he turned and slammed the other into a pillar. The stone cracked with the force, and Hawke could hear whimpers around her. The Qunari turned and locked eyes with Hawke, his frown deepening as he launched something down the steps. The object bounced downward and rolled directly in front of her.

Viscount Dumar’s head. The silver crown bounced away and landed at her feet.

“Hawke!” a familiar voice came from behind her. She turned to see Isabela pushing through the crowd. In her arms, she held a large book. _The tome._  

“Isabela?” Hawke said, her brows knitted together. Isabela handed the tome to her.

“I’m so sorry, I was selfish and foolish and…” she bit her lip. “I came back to help.”

Hawke raised one eyebrow. She should be furious, but she knew how much it must have taken her friend to come back to face even death itself. Hawke’s jaw locked.

“I’ll give it back to the bastard. Wait here.”

Hawke grit her teeth as she stepped over the crown and made her way up the steps, alone. Anders and Aveline were protesting in the background, but she lifted her hand. The Arishok tilted his chin upwards.

“Your city has fallen, _basra_.”

“We need not fight, Arishok,” Hawke said firmly. “I have what you seek here.”

The Arishok nodded to two of his guards and they plucked the tome from her hands.

“I thank you, Hawke,” he said. “Now we may return to Par Vollen, and this thief can answer for her crimes.” Hawke turned to see a few other guards grabbing Isabela by the arms. She let out a shriek and thrashed against them, reaching for her blades. Another guard plucked her blades from her and threw them away from her.

“Stop,” Hawke said, her voice powerful as it echoed through the entrance of the keep.

“She must be tried and punished,” the Arishok said. “And we will take her by force if necessary.”

“You will not see reason,” Hawke said through her teeth. “Very well, then. I challenge you to a duel. Whoever wins can claim her life as they see fit.”

“No Hawke,” Isabela said. “You don’t have to…”

“Silence,” the Arishok growled. “It is settled, then.”

Hawke reached the top of the stairs and twirled her staff as she darkened her gaze. He huffed and swung his weapons in a circle and took his stance. Stepping in a circle around him, her eyes never left his. _Let’s dance, bitch._

He let out a roar and swung his blade at her. Twirling away, she sliced him with her staff blade, blood dripping upon the stone beneath their feet. He growled and lunged at her again, his teeth gleaming. Throwing her staff in front of her, she blocked his swings, adrenaline screaming through her veins.

Suddenly he slammed the handle of his axe in her face, knocking her back. Wiping the blood off her face, she let out a war cry as she shot a powerful lightning bolt at him, striking him deep within his abdomen. He stumbled back and she lunged forward again. Blasts of fire rained from her staff until his skin was black and burnt. Closing in, she knocked his battle-axe from his hand and slammed him with a mind blast. But he had braced himself. He shot forward, his large, grey hand wrapped around her neck. Her vision blurred as he gripped tighter, a wicked smile somehow spreading across his face. Her eyes widened. Qunari were not exactly known for being expressive. With a strangled yell, she reached for his arm and face, fire burning from her fingertips. The Arishok howled in pain and dropped her. With a blast of fire, she pushed him back and took several deep breaths.

The Arishok’s eyes met hers again. He was done playing games. Pulling out another sword that he had strapped to his back, he swung at her. She blocked several more hits before he growled and twisted away from her. He swung forward, cutting her deep across the middle. Staggering backward, she held her abdomen tightly. _Blood._ She bared her teeth as she looked back at him. He was moving to swing again – to take the killing blow. She rolled away from the hit and sent several more blasts of lightning at him, putting him in a bit of a daze. Grabbing the small blade she had tucked in her belt, she ran at him and jumped on his back. Stabbing his back, he roared in pain and threw her back against the pavement, and something in her cracked. She winced. _Damn I’m getting thrown around today - and not in a fun way._ She flipped onto her stomach and pushed herself up. Her mana was getting low, she could feel it. Her head spun as she staggered slowly away from him. He swung at her and she was barely able to dodge the blade. Breathing heavily, she willed herself to keep moving backward.

The Arishok swung again, but this time he was too close. On instinct, she raised her arm and the blade cut through her leather glove. The Arishok kicked her back with his powerful foot and she hit the wall to the Keep. Her mind was buzzing with pain and exhaustion. She was going to lose.

Her eyes were drooping slightly. She couldn’t give up. And yet… and yet…

She could hear spirits and demons whispering around her, as though she were in the Fade. Their whispers were frantic, terrified, pushing her to keep moving. She kept going, but something in her was slowly giving up. She was almost keeled over, cowering before the powerful giant that wished her dead. She clutched the pool of blood in her hand, crimson dripping from her fingers.  

Suddenly there was a spirit that was whispering louder than all the rest. She knew its name almost immediately. She jumped back as the Arishok swung again, his face relishing in his victory. She breathed deeply as she listened to the whispers of the spirit.

“Ebasit kata, _basra,_ ” the Arishok said. “It is over.”

Hawke’s face spread into a wicked grin. The Qunari frowned. She stood up straight, wiping the blood from her hand across her face – war paint. She dropped her staff as her hands lit on fire, and the Arishok took several steps back. With a deep breath, she called upon the spirit, Courage, and reached her arms forward. Through the Veil of the world, two arms almost identical to hers ripped forward. They grabbed the Arishok by each arm, and she could see the absolute terror across his face as she pulled back, ripping him apart. He barely had time to scream before his remains fell to the ground, painting the stone with his blood.

She closed her eyes. It truly was over. Turning to her city, she stepped out to the top of the steps. The people were letting out cheers, and a small smile tugged at her lips. Isabela shirked away from the guards and ran up the steps. She slammed into Hawke with a hug, and the mage winced.

“Ow,” she murmured.

“Don’t you _ever_ do that for me again,” Isabela said pulling away.

Hawke chuckled. “Fine, but just so long as you don’t steal a sacred text again.”

“No promises,” Isabela said with a smirk.

Marian rolled her eyes. “Have you learned _nothing_ woman?”

“Only that you are one of my best friends,” she said sincerely.

Hawke sighed. “Okay, no getting sappy on me. Give me that much. I nearly died for you.”

Knight-Commander Meredith joined them up on the steps. “It appears that Kirkwall has a new champion.” She gave Hawke a smile, but something about it made her feel uneasy. She bowed her head slightly to the knight-commander and descended down the steps. Her gaze rested back on her companions, who pulled her into a circle as the crowd cheered around them.

“Drinks are on me,” Varric said, spreading his arms wide to the small group. “After all, what’s better than booze after a good fight?”

“Sex,” Isabela said, batting her eyes at Hawke. Hawke merely rolled her eyes.

“Not a chance, Isabela. Although tempting, I am _definitely_ taken. Speaking of which, I need to go get Fenris. I hope he’s made it through all this.”

“Please,” Varric chuckled. “He can rip hearts out with his bare hands. He’s probably just brooding at his window right now.”

Hawke laughed. “In any event, I will see you all later.”

She made her way down the steps of the keep, her blood still singing with adrenaline. The sun was setting in the distance, and she took in the pinks and oranges that painted the sky. She thought of Fenris and hoped he truly was okay. It was more than likely that he would have more news of Hadriana when she returned. She sighed. Hadriana was a nuisance. There was nothing she wanted more than to be able to spend her days lazily in Fenris’ arms, without any oncoming threats lingering over their heads.

The door to Fenris’ mansion looked serene. _No one tried to break in. Good._ She knocked on the door and waited. Nothing. She twisted the door open and let herself inside.

“Fenris?” she called out, her voice echoing against the vacant walls. Still nothing.

Making her way through the main hall and up the stairs to his room, she continued calling for him. She frowned, placing her hands on her hips. _Maybe he went back to the estate._ _Maker, what if he’s out there looking for me?_ She bit her lip. The last thing she wanted to do was worry about him.

Leaving the mansion, she decided that he would be okay. He was always okay. But she had barely made it across the courtyard two blocks down when that thought was stamped out of her mind. Her friends were standing around the outside of her mansion. Her eyebrows knitted together as she jogged over to them and saw what they were all staring at. Her jaw locked as she looked at her mother, whose eyes were filled with tears.

“What happened?” she said as she approached her mother.

“I was just sitting by the fireplace,” she sobbed. “There was a noise upstairs, and then suddenly there were these… people. They grabbed me and Bodahn and shoved us into a room, locking the door. We heard… _something_ … going on. Carver was…” her voice broke as she sobbed.

“Let me see,” Hawke said, pushing past them. She heard voices calling her back as she shoved open the door. Her heart stopped.

There was a circle painted around the main hall. Some kind of ritual circle. It was… _Blood magic._ She scanned the estate, her breath hitching. Everything was torn apart. Carver had fought back – fiercely. But there was no body. Her head was spinning as she heard the group follow her inside. None of them said a word as she stepped around the circle, her eyes tracing every inch of the room. Anything that could give her something to go on.

Sandal suddenly walked out of the kitchen nonchalantly.

“Sandal!” Bodahn cried, running for his boy and wrapping his arms around him. “Sandal where have you been, we’ve been so worried.”

The boy had a strangely serene smile on his face as he looked up at Hawke. He lifted his hand to her and dropped something cold in her hand. It was some kind of amulet, a star carved into the metal. She frowned.

“The Magisters came for him,” the boy said happily.  

Hawke stilled.

“Oh fuck,” Varric said behind her.

She looked back down at the amulet. _This is…_

“That’s a Tevinter Chantry amulet,” Anders said beside her.

_No. Nonono._

Hawke closed her eyes and sucked in a breath. _They took him and likely killed Carver to do it. If not, they’re still probably on their way to Tevinter by now._ Gripping the amulet tightly, she marched up the stairs, her mind burning.

“Where are you going?” Anders called after her.

“You all have a choice,” she said stopping at the top to turn back to them, “you can stay here, or you can follow me.” They all looked at her, their eyes wide. “I’m going to Tevinter.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we are at where I'd been planning to go for a long time. XD I wanted to split this chapter up, but... eh. Next up... Tevinter.  
> Also, no I didn't watch the DA2 Destiny trailer over and over and secretly wish that's actually how it went down... not at all... >.>


	24. Part Four: War of Hearts | Chapter Twenty-Four: The Road to Tevinter Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris begins to remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! The POV is going back to switching off chapter by chapter. This chapter will follow Fenris and the next one will follow Hawke.

_“Hello,” a voice said._

_The sun overhead beat against his bare legs that stuck out from under the small hut he’d built for himself. He looked up to the owner of the voice, blinking at the brightness of the afternoon light, and saw a small girl. Her dark hair was pulled back in a braid to reveal her round face and large eyes. He’d seen her before, in the alleyway with another little boy. She had healed his skinned knee. He could still remember how his master had glowed with delight at the small mage. A small tinge of resentment built in his chest. He took a deep breath._ It’s not her fault. 

_“Hi,” he replied. He stood up, his eyes downcast. “Please don’t tell him I’m here.” His mouth had gone dry, and his hands were balled into small fists at his sides. His master let him play in the courtyard with his sister, but since they were never really watched he’d managed to make it a habit of his to sneak out and see the city. But if his master knew… he shuddered at the thought._

_“I won’t,” the girl smiled. She stuck out one of her hands._

_The boy stared at her hand._

_“You’re supposed to shake it,” she laughed, her hand still outstretched. Fenris blinked and shook her hand quickly before retracting it and pulling himself back into the open hut._

_She pulled herself beside him and reached into her bag, pulling out the apples. She handed one to Fenris. “Here! I brought another for my brother but he decided to be a dimwit and stay back at our house.”_

_Fenris stared at the apple, his stomach caving in on itself. “Thank you,” he said, taking the apple gingerly, and biting into it. He chewed slowly, savoring the sweetness of it. He thought of his sister and his mother. They would likely be eating very little tonight, too. Their master’s slave business wasn’t as successful as he’d hoped. So while he still lived in luxury, the lesser slaves starved._

_The girl frowned and bit into her own apple. “So. Are you from Tevinter, too?”_

_He nodded as he chewed. He didn’t really remember Tevinter, though. He and his sister had been so young when their master had brought them here. It was much colder than Tevinter – of that he knew. He missed the warm winters and even hotter summers. He stared at the single bite in his apple. It was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. In his own selfishness, he took another small bite. He would save the rest after this._

_“I’ve never been there. My family and I stick to Ferelden. We travel around a lot, though. This is my first time living in the city.”_

_A scream came from the other side of the alley. The girl jumped up, pulling him with her. Her eyes were wide and he followed her gaze. A disheveled woman with sunken eyes and pallid skin was slowly limping toward them, her hands outstretched._

_“We have to go!” the girl said. But it wasn’t the girl anymore. Her face was unrecognizable – he could barely make out the features – and she was pulling him down the alley. The skies overhead clouded over, a storm brewing within them. Three humans turned the corner in front of them, and pushed her out of the way. Their knives were at his throat as they hissed obscenities in his ears._

_“We’ll gut you, knife-ear,” the leader said behind clenched teeth. The man sank to the ground, and he watched as his companion pulled a bloody dagger from his back._

_“Come on,” she said. “We have to get out of here.”_

_He followed after her, turning corner after corner behind her. He could only hear his breath within his chest, his heart pounding quickly as he tried desperately to keep up. His companion pulled him through an archway, and they were standing in the middle of an arena. Hundreds of warriors surrounded them, their eyes red and enraged as they began drawing their weapons._

_His companion handed him a large sword, and pulled out a bladed staff for herself. Red flooded his vision as the crowd began attacking. Suddenly the woman who had been standing beside him was replaced by another. Her red hair was pulled back to reveal her pointed ears and mischievous expression._

_“Come on, we have to go!” she yelled, her eyes frantic._

_A large Qunari man towered over them. The rest of the warriors had fallen and lay in a pile beneath them. Fenris’ bare feet were damp with their blood._

_The Qunari seethed as he approached, lunging to attack the elf beside him first. Fenris let out a cry and struck the first blow instead, but watched as the other elf fell anyway, her body joining the corpses beside her. He continued swinging at the Qunari until the man cried out in pain and fell forward. The elf looked up at him, her eyes twinkling, and a small, bloodied dagger in her hand. He had won. He turned around to see Kirkwall. It was burning. The flames licked the sky, and he realized that the clouds overhead were a thick, black smoke that shrouded all sunlight. Hawke stood before him, her eyes sad as she reached for him._

_A large figure shadowed them. Fenris turned to see the Qunari – the one he had killed in the arena. His lips curled back around his teeth, and in one swift motion, his blade was sinking into Hawke’s side. She cried out in pain, her body crumpling to the ground._

_“No!” he shouted, catching her. In a swirling blackness, the world around them began to fade slowly away, until nothing was left. Not even Hawke._

“Marian!”

Fenris snapped awake, sitting straight up. His skin was drenched in sweat, and tears were pooling in his eyes. _Just a dream._ He took a deep breath and took in the walls around him. _But this is not._ Suddenly he remembered – he had been on the Wounded Coast. He had been _caught_ by Hadriana. Anger rose up in his chest, and he cringed as he waited for the pain of the lyrium markings to erupt across his skin. But nothing happened. He frowned and touched one of the walls. There was rumbling beneath him. _It’s moving._ He was in some kind of metal caravan of sorts. The metal thrummed with magic. He clenched his teeth. It was likely some kind of barrier to prevent him from phasing through. Hadriana had been incredibly thorough – and in his impatience to cut her down, he’d been _captured._ Resting his head against the cool metal, he shut his eyes. Carver had betrayed him. He hadn’t even felt any remorse. He didn’t ever seem like much of a mage sympathizer – he’d become a Templar after all. _So why had he joined up with a magister?_ He didn’t hate his sister that much, he had thought. And Fenris had never given him a reason to hate him – not really. Unless… Fenris frowned. _Unless someone took his mind._

He thought back to his dream. _What a strange nightmare,_ he thought. _My mind is becoming increasingly creative._ But… somehow it had felt strangely familiar. Almost as if…

He rolled his eyes. _No. It’s not possible. I can’t be suddenly remembering my past._

He looked down at his lyrium-lined hands. He frowned. Clenching his teeth, he tried to make them glow again. Nothing happened. He was completely powerless. Growling under his breath, he hit the wall of his new cage, his chains clanking together. The metal sang against his fist, pain jolting down within his bones. Fenris looked down at his markings again. His frown deepened.

He would need to find a way out if he was going to escape.

There were small openings at the top of his mobile prison cell. It was enough for a small bit of light and air. He stood up and tried to look through. It was too tall for him. He growled and punched the wall again. Hadriana would not take him. _Could_ not take him. And she definitely wasn’t going to take him alive. His hands balled into fists against the wall and he rested his forehead on the metal. Marian’s face flashed through his mind, and he let out a sigh.

He could not do something like that to her. And he was not about to give up everything just yet. If he had any chance of escape – he had to find another way. As much as he would like to slaughter every magister in Tevinter, he knew that was a fight he could not win.

Fenris sank to his knees and closed his eyes. _Why was it so familiar?_ He clenched his teeth. The girl, the small hut in the back alleyway… it was almost tangible.

Perhaps it was his memories coming back. _But why now?_ The flashes were still there, echoing in his mind. Part of him was convinced that it was merely wishful thinking. He wanted so badly to remember it all – to remember his family, if he ever had one, and his childhood… even if it was bad. _Perhaps it will never truly be clear._

Fenris sat back. He was exhausted – likely drugged by Hadriana to keep him sedated long enough for the trip. It took an immense effort to keep his eyes open. Sinking down against the cool metal again, darkness flooded his vision, and he let sleep claim him.

***

The metal doors swung open, and Fenris squinted in the light. He blinked, his mind coming back down to reality again. The dreams that had followed after he’d gone to sleep were jumbled and a mixture of images of vaguely familiar faces. One reappeared multiple times – a middle-aged elven woman with dark hair and large green eyes. The skin wrinkled around them when she had smiled, and in every memory of her, he had felt this sense of warmth and belonging. It was foolish, but in his own wishful thinking, he believed the woman to be his mother. Carver stood before him, his eyes still blank as they had been earlier.

“Come,” the templar said, his voice sharp. “You must not starve before we reach Tevinter.”

He reached forward and grabbed Fenris’ wrists, yanking him from the cell. Fenris fell forward, hissing as he landed on his own chains. Carver threw a slice of bread and meat down on the ground in front of the elf. Fenris stared at the food, knowing that he would need his strength if he was going to properly plan his escape. But a twinge of pride pierce through him, and his mask of submissiveness broke as he glared up at the templar traitor.

Carver’s expression was blank as he kept his eyes trained downward. He was waiting for the elf to eat. Fenris’ jaw locked as he looked at the food. It wasn’t in terrible quality – aside from now being covered in dirt. He picked up the meat slowly and took a bite, glaring at Carver as he did so. Even if his mind had been taken, he imagined that whatever Carver saw would be later relayed to his _master._ His blood boiled at that thought. He was going to kill Danarius and flee Tevinter, no matter what it took. He continued to chew slowly, sand grinding harshly against his teeth, with a bitter aftertaste. _I must stay under control,_ he thought miserably.  

He looked around at their surroundings. They were well past the mountains now – and the heat that was creeping up through the late morning told him they were somewhere in Nevarra. They must have ridden all night. Or… however many nights he had been asleep in his enchanted cage. He looked down at his hands and willed them to glow softly. But nothing happened. He frowned. Perhaps it wasn’t the cage. He touched his shackles softly. He could feel the same thrum of magic. _She is afraid of making a mistake,_ he thought. A small smile crept across his lips – and he pulled his face back into a scowl. He couldn’t let Carver see his mask break even a little.  

He finished the food and Carver let him relieve himself near the camp before he was shoved back into the metal caravan. As the darkness closed in on him again, he held his face in his hands. Part of him wondered if Hawke would look for him. A dark part of his mind said no, but he knew her better than that. The better question was whether or not she would know _where_ to look.

Fenris’ eyes rested on the small bright slit at the top of the caravan. The only solace he found was that somehow – some way – he was going to find a way out of this. With or without her help. Sleep filled his mind yet again. _Damned magister coated the food in that potion._ With clenched teeth, he fought the urge to close his eyes. Instead, he thought of the many ways he could kill Hadriana and Danarius. A small smile curled across his face as he imagined the look on his former master’s face when the magister realized he would not win this fight. Then he could make his way back to Kirkwall to find Hawke again. His smile faded and he curled over to his side. _I should not think of her now,_ he thought. _Not until I find a way out._

***

_He was in a large courtyard, training dummies littering the ground around him. A blond elf stood before him, tanned and muscular beneath his thin, loose-fitting tunic. The elf swung his blade around and readied himself. Fenris took his own stance and lunged forward. His partner twisted around and dodged carefully away._

_“Come now, Leto,” the elf said with a laugh. “You can do better than that.”_

_Fenris growled and swung forward, his wooden blade swinging true toward the other elf. The elf dodged and continued chuckling. He swung yet again, and twisted around the elf, trying to catch him off guard._

_“Stop playing games, Taelan,” he hissed._

_Taelan held his hand to his chest, a wounded expression flashing across his face. “I am not playing games with you, Leto,” he said, his face twisting into a mischievous grin. “_ This _is playing games.” In a swift motion, the blond elf crouched and swung his leg around to trip him. Fenris lunged forward as Taelan’s leg struck his own, and they both fell forward, limbs tangled and crashing against the soft grass. Fenris looked down at Taelan, who had burst into laughter. His chest was hard against his hand that was outstretched for him to brace himself. The laughter of the elf beneath him died down and he looked at Fenris. Taelan’s eyes were a brilliant gold, one covered in a long scar. Despite that, he was admittedly attractive. Fenris’ heart started slightly as the elf’s eyes pierced through him. Taelan’s gaze darted to his lips and Fenris pulled himself to his feet quickly. He grabbed his wooden sword and put as much distance between himself and the other elf as possible._

_“Are you alright?” Taelan said, following behind Fenris._

_“I’m fine,” he snapped. “Let’s just get on with it.”_

_Taelan was quiet for a while. “It’s that human girl, isn’t it?”_

_Fenris froze._ How did he know about her? _He said nothing and began to reassemble the broken training dummies._

_Taelan rested his hand on Fenris’ shoulder. He wanted to flinch away, but he didn’t._

_“She’s never going to understand,” Taelan said quietly. “She’ll never know what it’s like to be an elven slave. She lives a life of freedom and privilege. Verres is a good master, but…” he stepped in front of Fenris and met his eyes before dropping his voice to just above a whisper. “We have to look out for one another. One day soon… we may even be able to escape this life.”_

_Fenris frowned. “Are you suggesting…?”_

_“Shh,” Taelan hushed him, turning away to reassemble another dummy. “I am. But we must be careful when we talk about it.”_

_Fenris nodded._

_“My point is,” Taelan sighed, “your human woman isn’t going to be able to save you from this life. But I could.”_

_Fenris almost bristled at that. It was true, she would never be able to save him. But this elf barely knew him the way she did. And even still, why did he need to rely on anyone else? “I don’t need your help,” Fenris growled._

_Taelan turned to look at him, his eyebrows furrowed together. “Well, perhaps I need you.”_

_“So you just want to use me?” Fenris said through clenched teeth._

_“No,” the other elf said, his eyes softening. “But… I have come to care for you, Leto. More than our master would like, to be honest.” He let out a chuckle as he scratched the back of his head. “I’m sorry. I just thought that you might have felt the same.”_

_Fenris cast his eyes downward, his face twisting into a frown. He felt almost as though he were betraying her. But after what had happened the other day – it was likely that she never wanted to see him again. She would be out of his life… as she should have been all along. She could just leave him behind without a second thought. Taelan was still standing before him, his eyes scanning Fenris’ face. His eyes flashed upward at once and he stepped forward to meet Taelan’s lips with his own. Two fingers stopped him instantly and his cheeks reddened as he looked up at the other elf._

_“Not here,” Taelan whispered with a crooked smile. He motioned for Fenris to follow him._

_The two elves walked cautiously to the side of the mansion, where they could access the slave quarters. They were to come here after training anyway, so it wasn’t too terribly suspicious. Still, Fenris’ stomach was in knots as he followed Taelan down the steps. His muscular body was lithe and graceful as he walked ahead of him. Fenris’ eyes were trained on the ground as his heart pounded within his chest._

_Suddenly two hands were grabbing his wrists and shoving him back into one of the dark, communal rooms. The other elf’s lips crushed his own, their bodies colliding together yet again. Taelan’s tongue brushed against Fenris’ lips, opening them gently and slipping it inside. Fenris gripped Taelan’s shirt and stifled a moan growing in his throat._

The metallic doors opened loudly, waking Fenris instantly. He blinked, the light burning his eyes. The small erection beneath the fabric of his pants was fading, and he instantly felt a twinge of guilt. He squinted as they adjusted and his gaze fell onto a tall, muscular elf. Blond, handsome, with a single long scar over one eye. He stared in horror.  

“Leto?” the elf breathed, his eyes wide.

“Taelan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two will be up soon! Thanks so much for reading!


	25. The Road to Tevinter Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang heads to the dreaded Imperium. Some hilarity ensues.

“Hawke,” Anders said behind her as she started throwing clothes and potions into a satchel. Her mind was spinning relentlessly, thinking of all the things that Fenris could be enduring right now. Her anger was making her hands light up slightly, the flames prodding at the surface to be released. No amount of magic was going to save Danarius now. He would die, hopefully by Fenris’ hand, but she would give everything to make sure that magister saw an early grave.

“Hawke,” Anders repeated, stepping in front of her as he gripped her shoulders. His golden eyes met hers as his brows dipped down in concern. “Stop for a second.”

“Why?” she snapped, pulling herself from his grip. “Look, I know you don’t like him. You don’t have to come with me, but you cannot stop me from going to get him. I’m not waiting around for him to save himself again.”

“I’m not suggesting that you don’t,” Anders sighed.

“Then what?” she seethed, turning back to him.

“You’re wounded,” he said quietly, “and running on adrenaline. You need healing, especially after that fight.”

Hawke blinked as she looked down. Blood covered her armor, and it hurt but she hadn’t really thought about it. “I’m fine,” she said.

“Stop being so stubborn,” Anders said, rolling his eyes. “Now sit so I can have a look at that.”

She bit her lip and sat down reluctantly. His hands hovered over her, light pouring from his fingertips as his brows furrowed in concentration. The warmth spread across her bones, and she felt a hot _snap._ Had she actually broken a bone?

“Maker’s breath, Hawke,” he chuckled. “How were you even walking around?”

She blinked. “I… don’t know.”

“Well, I say that you rest tonight and then we leave early tomorrow,” he said, standing up. “Healer’s orders.”

“We?”

“You know I wouldn’t let you go alone,” he said with a slight smile. “You’re too reckless to go without a proper healer.”

She lowered her face. “Anders, about the other day…”

“I’m sorry,” he said before she could say anything more. “I was an ass, and you didn’t deserve to be spoken to that way.”

She looked up at him and smiled back at him. “I forgive you. So… friends?”

“Friends,” he said, grinning.

“Alright,” she said, standing. “Now that the sappy part is over, let’s get back to killing things.” She stepped forward before his hands were on her shoulders again.

“No, Hawke,” he laughed. “ _Sleep_ first. You can’t just storm off to Tevinter without rest, you’ll be too weak to fight.”

She glared at him.

“Yes, yes, I know, you fought off the damned _Arishok_ but if you’re not going to do it for me, at least do it for Fenris. I’ll get the others ready and we’ll leave in the morning.”

She sighed. “Fine. But we leave at _first light._ ”

He laughed. “You’re worse than the Warden Commander.”

She grinned at him. “You know, you never talk about your time with the Grey Wardens.”

He shrugged. “It was a different time. I was… a different person.”

“Because of Justice?”

He nodded. “But not only because of Justice.”

She cocked her head to the side and he patted the top of her head. “I’ll tell you another time. Get some rest.”

Hawke rolled her eyes and flopped back on her bed, relishing in the soft pillows that still smelled like Fenris. Her heart broke a little bit and she turned away from Anders, not wanting him to see the tears already filling her eyes. She heard the mage leave the room, closing the door quietly behind him. She wiped away the tears, thinking instead of how grateful she was to have Anders as a friend. Despite everything, he had decided to leave his clinic for however long they would be gone to help her – even if he didn’t care for Fenris at all. Their argument had hurt, but if there was any reason for her to forgive him, this was it. She didn’t expect that the others would follow, though. They all had their own lives to get back to, after all. _Though two mages are better than one,_ she thought. _And we would be in Tevinter, no less, so it might be okay._

Hawke rolled back over, her mind pondering how the day could have gone differently. If she had only found Fenris first on her way to fight the Qunari… maybe they wouldn’t even be in this mess. Carver would still be around, too. They would have had to kill her first to get to them if she had been there. But she wasn’t. _This is the second of my mother’s children that I haven’t been able to save. This is the second time I could have helped Fenris be free of his slavers and wasn’t there to help._ She covered her face with one of the pillows, willing herself to fall asleep faster – this guilt was going to crush her harder than a hundred Arishok fights.

***

Hawke’s mind was racing the next morning as she bathed and dressed in her battlemage leathers. Carrying herself down the steps, she found a group of eyes staring at her. They were all armed and carrying their own satchels of belongings, ready for the path ahead. The only one who wasn’t carrying anything was Aveline.

“You’re awake!” Varric said. “And here I was going to send Merrill to go jump on you.”

She chuckled. “You’re all coming?”

“Not me, I’m afraid,” Aveline said with a sigh. “The City Guard would fall apart, especially after the day we had yesterday.”

Hawke smirked as she descended the stairs. “Sorry about that.”   

Aveline crossed her arms. “Save your apologies. Without you, I wouldn’t have a city to protect.” She smiled brightly at Hawke, the skin around her eyes wrinkling. “I just came by to see you all off, and give you a few supplies. You could probably use a few maps of the area.”

“I appreciate that,” Hawke replied. “We might be lost without you, though. You are, after all, the mother hen of the group.”

Isabela snorted. “She’s not _my_ mother,” she muttered. Aveline shot her a look and Isabela batted her eyes innocently.

Leandra stepped into the room, her eyes glistening slightly. “Marian,” she said, touching her daughter’s arm softly. “Please… bring him back, will you?”

 _Carver._ Marian’s heart ached slightly. She didn’t know if she even would be able to, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell her mother that. “I will try, Mother,” she said, hugging her tightly. As she pulled away she straightened her armor and wiped a stray tear.

“Well then,” she said with a grin. “Shall we?”

***

 “We should go west and make our way to the Imperial Highway,” Anders said holding the map.

Aveline had truly come through for them: she had secured a horse and a large cart filled with various supplies so they could claim they were traders in the event they were stopped. Isabela, Merrill, and Anders sat in the back of the cart while Varric and Hawke sat in the front with the reins. The sun warmed their backs as they rode across the outskirts of the city.

“And go through Nevarra? Are you absolutely insane?” Isabela said, crossing her arms. “There’s _no way_ we are doing that... right, Hawke?”

“Well, we would have to cross the Minanter River,” Anders answered instead. “And I’ve heard that it’s no picnic trying to get across. But there _is_ a bridge on the Imperial Highway.”

“A _toll_ bridge,” Isabela said with a halfhearted laugh. “Where they will be checking our cart and likely labeling us _smugglers._ ”

“I think they need a consensus,” Varric muttered to Hawke.

She sighed. “All on me then… again,” she said softly before reaching her hand out behind her. “Anders hand me that map.”

After several minutes of arguing with Varric over various towns and trading points, they decided that the best route would be to take the Imperial Highway, much to Isabela’s dismay.

“Look, Rivaini, I don’t like it either,” Varric said, scratching the back of his neck. “But the best way to get across is that bridge. You let me do the talking and I’ll secure us the paperwork so we won’t be taken in once we get to Tevinter. They can be a bit particular about what traders come in and out after all.” Isabela snickered and Varric sighed heavily. “Anyway, if they ask, you three are stray travelers who needed a ride.”

“Traders that pick up stray travelers? Isn’t that a bit suspicious?” Anders interjected.

“Well, you could pretend to be married to Rivaini with an adopted elf for a kid if you’re worried about it not being convincing enough.”

Both Anders and Isabela blanched in unison. Merrill blinked. “It’s not the worst idea he’s ever had,” she chimed in.

Varric scoffed. “Daisy, I’m hurt! You know my stories are plenty convincing.”

They stared at him surreptitiously. Even Hawke raised one eyebrow at him. He chuckled. “Fine, fine. I can come up with something better.”  

In the next few days, they traveled north toward the Vimmark Mountains to pass through the gates by Chateau Haine, and onward to the empty, vast land before they finally reached Nevarra. There was nothing but endless plains of grass ahead of them – barely even populated cities. When the sun began to set ahead of them, they decided to set up camp for the night. _Aveline managed to secure supplies for_ that, _too._ She was going to owe Aveline big time when they got back. _That’s at least fifteen pints_ she calculated before chuckling to herself. Aveline didn’t get drunk often, but last time she did she decided to beat every single person in the Hanged Man at arm wrestling. And then she did.

They sat around the crackling fire as the moonlight began to paint the sky. Hawke watched Merrill from across the fire as she busily knit a scarf. Isabela was watching the elf work, and Merrill was explaining how the process worked. Varric polished Bianca tenderly, and Hawke chuckled at his strangely affectionate display. Anders was sitting beside her with his elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the flames dancing in front of them.

“So,” Varric said finally, setting his crossbow gently down beside him. “Did you ever manage to tell him?”

The blood drained from her face and she sat forward, rubbing her forehead with her hand. “No, I didn’t,” she replied. “I was going to and then…” she loosened a breath and covered her face with her hands. The guilt was hitting her from all sides now. _Maker, I should have told him while I could. Maybe it wouldn’t have prevented this entirely, but it could have put something else on his radar instead of just revenge…_ “I didn’t think he would even believe me. Or if he did, he would assume I was just trying to manipulate him. I was a coward.”

“What’s going on?” Anders said, his brows furrowing. Isabela and Merrill looked up from the other side of the fire.

Hawke sighed as she looked at her friends. “Fenris and I have a longer history than I let on. And I was stupid and didn’t tell him.”

“Why not?” Merrill asked, cocking her head to the side.

“Well, with all of this magister nonsense I was worried it would just add to his stress and he would… leave.”

“You know he wouldn’t just leave you for telling the truth,” Merrill said, lowering her knitting. “It’s clear he cares about you a lot.”

Hawke chuckled. “Well he’s done it before so I figured this time would be no different.”

“Wait,” Anders said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Explain, because I’m confused. How long have you known him?”

“We grew up in Denerim together,” she said, her shoulders slouching as she stared at her hands. “He was my best friend when we were kids. He was a slave, but his master used to let him have time to have a life once a week. I was never really sure if he was _allowed_ out of his estate, but I didn’t ask. Bethany, Carver, and I spent time with him whenever he was free. He and I grew… closer… and then one day he just left. Didn’t even say goodbye. I thought surely he hated me, or just didn’t care anymore. Then flash forward a few years and suddenly we were meeting again in Kirkwall, and he had no idea who I was. He had been to hell and back, and where was I that whole time?” She shook her head. “I knew he wouldn’t believe me if I had told him at first – you know how he is about mages. Then as time went on… it just got harder to break it to him that I had lied. I wanted to wait until this business with Danarius was over and done with – maybe help him find his family.”

The group was quiet. Finally, Anders broke the silence. “You were trying to respect his feelings. I mean, I’m sure he would have liked to know, and maybe you shouldn’t have kept it from him, but I can understand why you would be worried. He’s not exactly known for incredibly rational behavior.”

“You’re one to talk,” Isabela laughed.

Anders narrowed his eyes slightly. “I’m trying to help.”

She scoffed and turned back to Hawke. “Listen, it’s never easy to tell the truth. I mean, look at me with the whole relic thing…”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “Not really helping, Isabela. It’s not like a whole city is under siege because I withheld information from him.”

The pirate shrugged. “Hey, I like to think big.”

Anders chuckled and Isabela winked at him.

“I still don’t think he would just leave her for something like that,” Merrill said, returning to her knitting. “I mean, you all have seen the way he looks at her when her back is turned. His eyes remind me of a lost puppy.”

Hawke blushed. “We should probably rest before tomorrow. I can take first watch.”

When the camp was finally quiet, Hawke stepped away from the campfire and shivered as she stared out into the darkness. The trees were scarce out here, with nothing but grass between them and the mountains behind them. She heard soft footsteps behind her, but she didn’t turn. She already knew who it was.

Anders stood beside her, looking up at the stars and shivering slightly as a breeze whipped through the plains. She followed his gaze, admiring the sea of starlight above them.

“You don’t have to keep watch with me,” Hawke laughed.

“But it’s such fun,” he quipped. “You know how I enjoy sleepless nights.”

“As much as I do, I’d imagine.”

He turned slowly to her. “Are you okay? I know how much you’ve been through in the last few days.”

She glanced at him and returned to looking at the stars. “Oh, I don’t know. I may just survive this adventure. Might lose a limb or two, but you know me. I like to live life on the edge.”

“I’m being serious, Marian,” he said.

She looked at him then, her eyes locking with his. “And I am too. I wasn’t meant to have an easy time. The Maker made sure of that.”

“You’re not alone in this. It’s not like he gave us easy lives either.”

She smirked. “He has a habit of doing that, it seems.” She turned back to the stars. “I just hope that wherever Fenris is, he doesn’t believe that I’ve forgotten about him. I think that scares me more than anything.”

Anders rolled his eyes. “I’ll never understand that man, but if he doesn’t think that you would tear the world apart for him he’s the biggest idiot in Thedas.”

Hawke hugged herself tighter, silently praying to Andraste herself that Fenris wasn’t.

***

“I cannot believe we are _actually_ doing this,” Anders said, crossing his arms. They were stopped less than a mile from the bridge to Tevinter, and preparing to cross the border into the Imperium.

“Now, Blondie, just stick to the plan. I’ve forged a few documents that will be sure to grant you access into the Imperium. Hawke and I will ride ahead with the cart posing as Traders from the Merchant’s Guild with Hawke as the human liaison. You and Rivaini will take Daisy and tell them that you are planning on visiting family in Vyrantium. The documents I gave you are letters from relatives and documents of residence in Kirkwall.”

He handed Isabela a bundle of dark fabric. “Aveline told me a little about the Imperium before we left – apparently modesty is a big deal.”

Isabela scoffed. “What a bunch of boring prudes.”

“You just have to wear it past the border,” Varric chuckled. “Then you’re welcome to wear whatever you like until we reach the city.”

She waggled her eyebrows.

Anders covered his face with his hand. “Don’t encourage her, Varric.”

The dwarf shrugged and winked at the pirate.  

“Daisy, just remember that the Imperium is not exactly kind to elves, so stick with Rivaini and Blondie until we meet up again.”

“It’s kind of you to worry, Varric,” she said with a bright smile. “But I think I can manage.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said, assessing his handiwork. Isabela had slipped the dark robes over her usual low-cut white tunic and thigh-high boots. She pulled the bandana from her dark locks and shook them out. Anders watched her with wide eyes, and she winked at him.

“Ready, _husband?_ ” she said, making it sound dirtier than it truly was.

Anders shuddered and Hawke covered her mouth, stifling a laugh. _Hopefully they don’t notice how ridiculous this is._

“I was going to say that you look nice, too,” Anders said.

Isabela rolled her eyes and took Merrill’s hand. “Let’s go already.”

“We’ll meet you there!” Hawke said waving as the three of them marched off to the bridge. As soon as they were out of earshot, she looked at Varric, the sides of her mouth quaking. They broke out into howls of laughter.

“I _cannot_ believe you actually convinced them to do it,” Hawke laughed, wiping a tear from her eye.

Varric shrugged. “You know, if it actually _does_ work I’ll have new material for my book.”

“And if not?”

“Just be lucky I can talk my way out of anything.”

Hawke shrugged and followed him back to the cart. They followed slowly behind their friends, making sure to stay far enough away that it didn’t look like they were traveling together.

“By the way, I’m sorry about last night,” Varric said. “I shouldn’t have asked you about Fenris.”

“It’s okay,” Hawke said with a sigh. “It’s better that they know. They _are_ following me across the continent to go save him.”

“Maybe, but I still should have let you tell them on your terms instead of putting you on the spot.”

“It’s okay, Varric,” Hawke smiled at him. “No harm done.”

He returned the smile and turned back to the road, clutching the reins. “Now, did you say he was from Minrathous?”

“That’s what he told me, at least,” she said. “But we might be able to ask around to see if anyone knows where Danarius is living nowadays.”

“Well let’s hope it’s in Minrathous,” Varric sighed. “I don’t even want to think of what would happen if we took too long.”

“Neither do I.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm almost done with the next chapter as well, so I'll be posting that soon, too! 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!


	26. Leto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Taelan have a chat. 
> 
> [Trigger Warning: There is slight physical abuse in this chapter, and implied physical abuse. If you are not into that, please skip the tenth paragraph and go on to the next section (marked with the asterisks). Also, there is a slight implication of sexual abuse and sexual harassment. It is very brief and in the last paragraph of the chapter.]

Fenris followed Taelan through the front courtyard, his hands still shackled together. His stomach was twisting in on itself and he couldn’t bring himself to look up at the elf. How was it that this man was in his dream? His strangely _familiar_ dream? And why did he call him “Leto”? These questions were unlikely to be answered soon. The courtyard around them sent a shiver down his spine. There were statues lining the stone path, powerful mages standing erect as to intimidate those who walked by. The gardens around them were covered in various different flowers and shrubs, with two fountains on either side of them, and perfectly trimmed trees lining the outer walls. _Walls._ He had walked out of one prison into an even larger, more deadly prison.

Far ahead of them Hadriana was strolling up to the main stairwell that led to a large set of doors. In the wood of the doors, there were carvings of two pairs of serpents – the symbol of the Imperium. Fenris clenched his teeth. The doors opened wide, and two slaves emerged – both wearing dark tunics with gold fabric tied around their waists. Danarius enjoyed it when his slaves were clean and presentable. For once, Fenris was glad that he was covered in the stench of his travels. He was led into the main hall, and the cool marble felt good against his bare feet. There was a stairwell ahead of them, and at the foot of the stairs stood his former master. Taelan stood on one side of him, while Carver stood on the other. The doors behind them closed. He was trapped inside this house again. Trapped with _him._

Danarius smiled wickedly. “Well, Hadriana, you certainly have outdone yourself.”

“Thank you, ser,” she said, bowing her head slightly. “Your plan with the brother worked swimmingly. I would have preferred our first course of action but this proved to be just as successful.”

So they had originally wanted Hawke instead. _How long have they been spying on me?_ He frowned. By the way Carver had been acting, he didn’t believe that the templar was doing this of his own volition. It had to be blood magic, he was sure. He’d seen Danarius make blood puppets before, but this was far more elaborate – and had lasted longer – than he remembered.  

“ _Excellent,_ ” he said. “And he has come with you, too! We may have use for him, yet.”

“He has been taking lyrium,” Hadriana explained. “So the ritual was a little harder than we had anticipated. But with a southern Templar at your disposal, I imagine you will be the talk of the Imperium. They may be uncultured beasts, but their gifts are incredibly useful.”

Carver twitched beside him, and Fenris frowned. _Is he still inside?_ Even _that_ was unheard of. But if he was still conscious, however buried and unable to control himself, he must be going insane already. Fenris clenched his teeth. _We will figure out how to save you._

“Or a target,” the magister smiled, which appeared more like a sneer. “Now, Fenris, I doubt you remember Taelan here – but you used to have the same master. Isn’t that nice? I purchased him as one of your guards that will kill you without question should you try to leave again.”

Fenris locked eyes with his master, and Danarius frowned. They both knew that this act alone was condemnable, but he didn’t care. The longer he was angry, the more he would resist the submissiveness that Danarius would likely try to beat back into him. _I should like to see him try._

Danarius grimaced and nodded to Taelan. Without being so much as able to register what was happening, one strong hand was turning Fenris and the other connected sharply with his face, and he fell to the ground. His cheek reddened from the slap and he stared down at the floor, anger boiling in his veins.

“You would do well to remember your place, little wolf,” Danarius said calmly. “I will not tolerate such insolence in my household. Bring him to Mortius. Then take him to get cleaned up and throw him in the cell.”

Carver and Taelan grabbed him from under his arms and lifted him roughly. He closed his eyes as they led him to the back of the mansion. Danarius couldn’t afford to give him lashings like the rest of the slaves. Not when his precious lyrium markings could be ruined. But his bones? His internal organs? Easily expendable.  

When they reached the back doors, the two men pushed them open. A tall human stood beyond the doors. His face was fully bearded and his eyes were coal-black. Four long scars traced side-by-side across his face, as though he’d been attacked by a wild cat. The human pulled back his lips into what Fenris supposed was some kind of smile. The man gripped a long wooden stick in his hand and cracked his neck.

“Hello again, Fenris.”

***

Carver shoved Fenris into the cold, dark cell. The elf hit the ground, his bones screaming in pain. The welts covered him from the neck down, and he willed himself to stand again on shaky legs as Carver shut the metal door. The shackles around his wrists had rubbed his skin raw, but even in his pain he reached forward and grabbed the bars of the cell, glaring at the templar until he made his way up the steps and out of view.

When the dungeon door shut, Fenris sank to his knees and stifled a sob that was welling in his throat. He took several deep breaths and sat back, his entire body screaming. He had been scrubbed raw by several other slaves, which made his skin burn even more, and then they shoved him into tight pair of pants made of rough fabric that further irritated his skin. Cold, tired, and in pain, Fenris slouched forward and held his face in his hands. He tried to keep the tears at bay, but he felt a traitorous hot tear slide down his cheek.

The door above him creaked open and he quickly wiped the wetness from his face, pulling his expression into a deep scowl. Quiet footsteps scurried down the stairs and the blond elf called Taelan appeared in the dim torchlight. He crouched down in front of Fenris’ cell, his face unable to mask his concern as he gripped the metal bars.

“Leto,” he said softly. “I am so sorry.”

“Who are you? And why do you call me that?” Fenris sneered. “You clearly have the wrong man.” _I don’t care if I dreamt of you. For all I know this is some trick of the mind._ He couldn’t imagine why Danarius or Hadriana would implant those thoughts in him, though. Surely giving him a connection to another slave would make him harder to control, at best. Or perhaps they wanted to give him a false sense of security. Either way, this elf was trouble. _And why is he looking at me that way?_

Taelan frowned. “Because that is your name. Do you… do you not remember me?”

“No,” Fenris snapped. He didn’t care that this elf seemed to hold the same concern in his eyes that Hawke usually had. Though, he felt as if that almost made it worse. And yet, some part of him was slightly curious about what this elf had to say. If it wasn’t a trick – if he truly knew him – then that would mean he was beginning to remember his life before. That would mean that his memories of the older elven woman were real. It would mean that he used to belong to a master far less cruel than Danarius, and it would mean that he once battled a large Qunari at the Proving Grounds in Minrathous. Which would make sense since that was near where he woke up – the farthest memory that even had. What didn’t make sense was why a woman who looked like Hawke was there. She had her face – a younger version, but still her face. _Perhaps it’s just my own desires and fears bleeding through._

Taelan looked taken aback, but did not walk away. “I was purchased by Danarius several years ago – and tasked with tracking you down. He thought that since we had been… friends… that you would willingly follow me back. I… gave him false information, trying to lure him away from you. When I found out that you had gone to Kirkwall, I tried desperately to hide the information but he would have had me executed, and he would have found you anyway. I gave him as little information as possible, but it wasn’t long until he managed to get more information while he was staying in Kirkwall. He ordered me to find out more information on you, and in my own fear for my life, I told him about your human woman. I’m sorry – I know how much she means to you.” 

Fenris just stared at him. “You are making no sense.”

“You truly do not remember?” the elf said quietly.

“No,” Fenris growled. “Any memory I had before I received my markings is lost.”

Taelan sighed heavily, his eyes scanning the lyrium markings that were traced along his body. “I will _kill_ that Magister for what he has done to you.”

“Why do you even care?” Fenris snapped.

“Okay,” Taelan breathed. “Here is what I know of your past. The short version, because we will soon be out of time. You were born in Tevinter and you have a mother and a sister who were owned by Magister Verres. We all were owned by him, actually. He was a slave trader in Ferelden, where you and your family lived for many years before Danarius purchased you. I was your trainer because you were meant to be Magister Verres’ second bodyguard. But Danarius saw you and had to have you.” His voice became more venomous then, and wrath flashed across his face before he took a deep breath and relaxed. “From what I’ve heard, he struck a deal with you that would release your mother and sister from slavery should you win a tournament. And if you did win, you would also receive the champion’s boon. That boon was the lyrium tattoos that you now bear. Before all that, though, you were close with som–”  

“Stop,” Fenris cut in. “No more.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overwhelm you.”

Fenris’ eyes fell to his hands. “I… had a dream before coming here. And perhaps it was the magic that Hadriana bound me with, but I could… almost remember all of that.”

“What did you remember?”

Fenris sucked in a breath. He didn’t know how much was his own memory and how much was his imagination. “We were… intimate,” he said slowly.

Taelan gave him a small smile. “That we were.”

“So it wasn’t just a dream?”

“Perhaps not.” Taelan reached through the bars and stroked the back of Fenris’ hand. He felt his cheeks redden as he pulled away slightly. Hurt flashed across Taelan’s face before he pulled his hand back again.

Fenris sighed. “I hope you do not get the wrong impression about this.”

“You still don’t trust me,” Taelan said. It wasn’t a question.

“How can I trust you?” Fenris said, his head snapping up. “You sold me out to save your own skin.”

Taelan stared at him. “I did it so that I could _save_ you.”

“I do not need saving, and you were foolish for not getting yourself out while you still could.”

Taelan chuckled. “Still so stubborn, even without your memories.”

“Do not pretend to still know me,” Fenris seethed. Taelan’s laughter died and his jaw locked. Fenris didn’t care what his past with this elf was. He had sold him out, sold Carver out. He was the reason he was here in the first place. “You will soon be missed upstairs,” Fenris said coolly. “You should run back to your master before he comes looking for you.”

Taelan sighed and pulled a small glass vial from his pocket. “I brought you this, to ease the pain. It won’t heal you entirely, but it should speed up the process.” He set it down in front of Fenris and stood, his eyes running across him one last time before he disappeared up the stairs.

Fenris picked up the vial. There was a small chance that the contents of it were poison or meant to be part of some ritual. But as he shifted, he was reminded of the pain that still wracked his entire body. If he truly could trust Taelan… he sighed heavily. His story did seem to match up with his dreams. Or, memories rather. He undid the top of the vial and sucked down the liquid. It tasted of honeysuckle and elfroot. _A good sign._ He set the vial down and held his face in his hands. The pain _was_ beginning to subside. Not enough to put him at ease, but just enough that he could lay back against the stone wall on the other side of the cell.

The dreams that he’d had swirled in his mind like violent eddies mixed with what Taelan had told him. His name was Leto. Or… it used to be. Fenris grimaced. Whoever Leto was, that wasn’t who he was anymore. That part of his life was dead and gone, no matter how many dreams he had. Leto was born a slave, property of the Imperium and the magisters who saw fit to control him. Leto was the dead part of him that he could no longer accept, the part that would allow himself to submit to his master. Fenris would never be that man again. Despite all circumstances, despite what happened, Fenris was _free._

And then, something dawned on him. He knew how he was going to reclaim his freedom. It would not be his first choice, and the thought alone was humiliating, but he could do it. He would do it – for Hawke, and for himself.

***

A week later, Fenris was dragged up to Danarius’ office. The magister was lounging casually in a tall chair behind his desk, holding a goblet of wine between his index and middle finger. Carver gripped Fenris’ arm too tightly and threw him down on the floor in front of the magister’s desk. Fenris kept his eyes trained to the ground.

“Well, my little wolf,” Danarius said with a feigned tone of delight, swirling his wine delicately, “I have it on the best authority that you have been behaving yourself.”

Fenris nodded simply, not looking up from the ground. He willed himself to not clench his fists together. The shackles he wore around his neck and wrists had been loosened, but that didn’t replace the ever-present reminder that he was still in chains. The Magister would never let him forget again as long as he lived.   

“Very good. Now, I’m not _completely_ ready to let you off the hook yet. You have only been here for a week. However, I do rather miss your presence, as does our dear friend Hadriana, so I am letting you out of your cell during the day. If you show that you can be obedient, I will allow you to sleep in the slave quarters again. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Master,” Fenris said softly. He closed his eyes, ignoring the flare of anger raging up within him. Hadriana would no doubt take advantage of him being at her disposal.

“Very good. Carver, do send him to Hadriana to see if she needs assistance with anything. She has been tirelessly working in the study all day.”

“Of course,” Carver said, his voice hollow. He pulled Fenris back up and they started for the door. Fenris made eye contact with Taelan, who had been standing in the corner of the room the whole time. There was a flicker of sorrow, and then it was gone.

“Oh, and Fenris?” Danarius called sweetly. They both turned. “I do hope that I don’t have to send you back to Mortius again. I did hate to see him hurt you like that.” Something flickered in his eyes that Fenris instantly understood. He hoped his plan worked before Danarius got too comfortable with him around. The magister’s eyes traveled down his body, and the elf looked away before he tried anything too rash. Carver pulled him out of the room, and Fenris took a deep breath. The fire that he’d been trying desperately to keep alive had been reignited tenfold. He would not leave the Imperium until he had ripped Danarius’ heart from his chest.


	27. Of Assassins and Thieves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang stops in to get a drink and end up with more than they asked for.

In the outskirts of the city of Vol Dorma, Hawke and the rest of the group sat around a table inside a cozy inn. Hawke’s eyes traced the inside of the building, in slight awe of the architecture. The walls were decorated with various serpents and elaborate artwork. Most of the people in the establishment wore dark robes made of rich fabric, even the barmaids. The group sat in the far corner of the inn, trying to stay out of sight.

“I feel vastly underdressed,” Varric said softly.

“I feel like a barbarian,” Hawke muttered as a noblewoman passed them, her dark skirts flowing beautifully behind her.  

“We may need to go get something in town tomorrow,” Varric chuckled, “unless we _want_ to stick out like a sore thumb.”

“I do like their jewelry,” Isabela said, raising her eyebrow as she eyed a woman across the way. She was wearing a thick gold necklace that was tight around her neck and had loose gold chains flowing down her chest and back. In her ears were matching gold earrings that were chained to the gold cuffs latched to her upper ear.

“Just don’t get us thrown out unless it’s _really_ nice,” Hawke chuckled.

“Deal,” she winked.

Hawke sipped her ale slowly and blinked. She shared a look with Varric, who had also just taken his first sip. They stared wide-eyed at each other.

“This should be a _sin_ ,” she hissed.

“I think I’m going to talk to someone about importing this to the Hanged Man,” Varric said, taking another sip.

“I can’t imagine what it will be like once we actually reach civilization,” Hawke said.  

A woman wearing hooded dark robes sauntered slowly to their table before she sat gracefully in one of the empty chairs. Dark red tendrils of hair escaped her hood, and she scanned the group as they stared back at her. The stranger’s eyes fell on Hawke and she cocked her head to the side.

“Kirkwall?” she said simply, her voice lilting slightly.

“Who wants to know?” Hawke replied, crossing her arms.

“Or Ferelden perhaps?” she said with a laugh. “Your clothes give you away.”

“See?” Varric said, motioning to the strange woman.

Hawke chuckled. “Can we help you?”

The woman smiled slightly. “There is a man in this building that is after me. He has men stationed outside the inn who are prepared to kill me on sight. Normally I would be able to take them, but he took extra precautions and purchased a full company of Antivan Crows.”

Isabela raised an eyebrow. “You’re that much of a threat?”

“Indeed,” the woman said, her tone oddly humble. “But I need your help.”

“What makes you think we would be able to help you?” Hawke said, sipping her ale slowly.

“Well,” the woman said, sitting back and examining her nails. “I do imagine that the Champion of Kirkwall would be able to help.”

Hawke’s eyes darkened as she set her ale down softly. “Let me rephrase that. _Why_ would I help you?”

The stranger’s eyes snapped up and locked onto Hawke. “Because I know who you’re looking for. And I know where you can find him.”

Hawke stilled. “Who are you?”

“Call me Tallis.”

***

The group stayed the night at the inn, and both Hawke and Anders carefully wove a strong ward over the door, locking them safely inside. They had managed to get a two-room suite – after Varric talked to the innkeeper – and the group settled in for the night. In

Staring at the ceiling sometime later, she let out a small puff of air and pulled herself from the bed. There was a deep ache in her chest that was threatening to break her apart. She stood up slowly and made her way to the balcony that was connected to the two rooms, and rested her arms on the railing. The moon hung serenely in the sky, casting its light across the endlessly rolling hills of sand and patches of grass.

The spirit, Courage, pressed gently against her and she lowered her head into her hands. _How could I have been so foolish?_ She had given herself over to blood magic – and it had most assuredly been the thing that took away her brother and Fenris. Now she was tied to a spirit. Not quite as bound as Anders, but still bound. When she had accepted the spirit’s offer, she had not thought of the consequences – of what the spirit had asked of her. _Only that you take on the role of a champion,_ the spirit whispered again to her. _Only that you spend your days filled with the courage of a thousand warriors._

 _Bullshit_. She clenched her teeth. _Just a bunch of Fade bullshit._

The spirit did not reel at that, and she could feel it pushing against her lightly before it disappeared. _What kind of nonsense is that, anyway? What would a spirit of courage have to gain?_ She rested her head on the railing, willing all the thoughts spinning through her head to go away. _Find Fenris, and find out what happened to Carver. That’s the plan._ But it didn’t feel like much of a plan. Sure, they had maps and now someone who knew where Fenris was – but it didn’t feel like enough. They were grasping at straws as it was. So far all Hawke had been able to come up with was getting Fenris away in the middle of the night, killing Danarius in the process, and reaching the coast so they could steal away on a ship back home. But it wasn’t enough. They could be caught – executed… and she would not subject her friends to that. Whatever happened, they needed to be left out of the fray, and Fenris was going to leave his life of slavery. But it wasn’t as if she could just walk right up to Danarius and demand that he give up his prized slave. She doubted he could be paid off, either. And she wasn’t leaving until Fenris got his vengeance. He was owed that much.

But Carver was a different story. She had studied the markings made from ritual for only a few moments, but from what she gathered from one of Merrill’s books on blood magic it was some sort of binding spell. _Which doesn’t make sense because he’s not a mage or a spirit._

It had to be something. Something they could use to capture Fenris. She rubbed her forehead. _It’s no use worrying about this now. I can’t do anything, anyway._ She sat against the outer wall of the rooms and rested her head back. She had never been one to pray, or even believe in Andraste or the Maker, but something in her hoped it was all real. If not for her sake, for everyone else’s. 

 _Sweet Maker I’m losing my mind._  

“Sleep not going so well?” Tallis said behind her.

Hawke chuckled. “With Varric snoring so loudly I can hear him through the walls? No, I don’t think so.”

Tallis laughed and joined her. “I know you’re worried about Fenris, but he’ll be okay.”

Hawke cocked her head to the side. “You make it sound like you’re a friend of his.”

The elf flashed her a sad smile. “More of an acquaintance, really, but yeah I suppose you could say that. He saved my life a long time ago – and if it weren’t for him, I’d still be a slave.”

“You were a slave?”

Tallis nodded. “I was one a long time ago. My master had me train to be a rogue so I could protect him at parties, and I was better than his other slaves were. Then one day he decided to put me in a competition that would pit me against other slaves. In return, we would receive a boon. Leto – or Fenris, as he calls himself now – helped me survive. He won the competition, and I pretended to be dead. I managed to slip away before they had checked all the bodies, and I never looked back. Until now.”

“Is that why you’re willing to help us?”

“I owe him a debt,” she said with a smile. “And this seems like an appropriate way to pay it back.”

***

When they awoke, they snuck out the window and into the cool morning air. Climbing over the stone wall around the back of the inn, they slipped quietly to the cart.

Two men dressed in moss green leathers were leaning against the cart casually. One of them was twirling his dagger in his hands and they glanced up at the group. _Crows._

“Well, now, Tallis, I didn’t expect you to actually bring friends,” one of them said in a thick Antivan accent.

“Now that would be making your job too easy, wouldn’t it?” she quipped, a sly smile crossing her face.

The second Crow looked at his companion and shrugged. “Less boring this way I guess.”

“Or you can let me go on my way,” Tallis said gently. “There needn’t be any deaths today.”

The first Crow raised his eyebrow. “For what price?”

Tallis pulled something from her pocket and dropped it in the Crow’s hand. The Crow frowned and turned it over. It was some kind of jewel, glistening in the morning light. “This is…”

“Yes,” she said simply. “It should be enough to pay off your employer’s debt, as well as your silence.”

The first Crow nodded as he stood up straight, then motioned for his companion to follow. When they had left, Tallis turned to Hawke. “Thank you. They would have killed me on sight, but you all gave them pause long enough to let me talk to them.”

Hawke chuckled. “Well, you’re welcome I suppose.”

“And with luck, there won’t be others that will come after us,” she said with a sigh.

“Us?”

Tallis smiled. “I told you that I would help you find Fenris. I will keep my end of the bargain. But I want to add something additional to that.”

Hawke frowned. “What’s that?”

“I would like to join you. I can help a lot more if I’m with you. Minrathous is big and getting him out quickly will be tedious, but I have a way I can show you. I used to be a slave, after all.”

Hawke blinked. She hadn’t really expected the elf to want to put her life on the line for him – even if he did save her all those years ago. But she also knew that she needed all the help she could get.

“Did you say that you used to be a slave?” Anders said.

“Yes,” Tallis replied sharply.

“So you would know a lot more about the Imperium than we do?”

“I would,” she said.

 “Very well,” Hawke said. “You’re welcome to come with us.”

“Excellent,” she said, beaming.


	28. Nature of the Beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TRIGGER WARNING PLEASE READ***  
> So this chapter has a rape attempt scene - but it does *not* happen (hence why no archive warning). If this is something that is triggering for you, skip the first half of the last section (the first part marked by the third set of three asterisks, and the end of it is on the eighth paragraph).

“Alright, up you get,” Carver said, yanking Fenris up out of the prison cell. This was the fourteenth morning that he’d been awoken this way. Somehow, it was not getting much easier.

Fenris resisted the urge to growl at him and walked steadily over to Taelan. The blond elf didn’t meet his eyes as he led Fenris up the stairs, with Carver following close behind. _That magister is still terrified of me_. The sides of his mouth twitched at the thought. Nothing brought him more pleasure than the image of Danarius cowering in fear.

“Our Master has asked that we properly dress you today,” Taelan said, his words sharp.

“Are we going somewhere?” Fenris asked.

“Yes,” the other elf snapped.

They went to the slaves’ quarters and Taelan walked over to a small dresser. Pulling out a black tunic and fresh leggings, he handed them to Fenris, along with a golden sash. Same outfit as every slave in their household. Easily recognized, easily branded with the name “ _slave.”_ Taelan stood in the doorway, his body still facing Fenris, but his eyes turned to look at the wall next to him. Fenris grimaced. He was still angry with him – and they hadn’t spoken much for a week. But even in anger, Taelan was trying to be respectful. _I should thank him later for the potion._

He slid on the fresh clothing. It was still rough against his skin, but much less bothersome now that he was healed. There were no sleeves on his tunic, and his tattoos stood out against the rich, black fabric. He tied the gold sash around his waist, his brows furrowing at how humiliating it was to be dressed up like this for a man who he vowed would soon be dead. He relaxed his face as he turned back to Taelan. The blond elf didn’t say a word as he started off.

Taelan led them through the main hall. There were portraits of various former heads of Danarius’ household and elaborate paintings of scenery that paid homage to Tevinter. _As though it is truly something worth celebrating._ The thought made him want to spit. They walked up a winding staircase to Danarius’ library, where they found the magister explaining a new magical theory to Hadriana. She looked at Danarius as though he were Andraste herself.

Danarius looked up at the three men who joined them, his lips twitching into an unpleasant smile. “There you are. I was just about to go visit town for a meeting. You and Taelan will accompany me.”

Fenris bowed his head low and resigned himself to the wall alongside Taelan and Carver. Danarius finished writing several notes down and handed them to Hadriana. With that he walked out of the room, barely even motioning for Taelan and Fenris to follow. Carver was left behind with Hadriana, and Fenris prayed to whatever gods existed that he would snap out of being a puppet and kill Hadriana.

They followed Danarius to his carriage outside. Danarius used Fenris’ shoulder as leverage to climb into the carriage, his fingers lingering on his skin. Fenris fought off a shudder and kept his eyes on the ground. Taelan pulled Fenris up to sit on the footboard of the carriage and signaled to the driver that they were ready. The carriage jolted forward and Fenris held on tight to the handrails on the sides. He tried to keep his eyes trained to the road passing below him. He couldn’t stand one more moment of Taelan’s sharp glares. He couldn’t deny that he felt a strange sense of kinship with the elf – but he could not offer Taelan what he wanted. And if he truly knew Fenris like he said he did, he would know that it takes a lot more than filling in the blanks of his forgotten past to truly earn his trust.

Still, his dreams had been more frequent – broken and confusing, but they alluded to more information about his past. And from what he gathered, Taelan never truly did anything to betray him.

In one of the dreams, Fenris had been coming home from another night out. One of the favorite slaves of his former master had seen him and was turning to go tell the Verres when out of nowhere, Taelan stepped forward and asked him how many laps he had been able to do. Fenris had been taken aback that his trainer was giving him a firm alibi – but he answered without missing a beat. Taelan loudly reprimanded him and made him do several push-ups as penance, then barked at the other slave to get back to work. Once out of sight, Taelan pulled him back up.

“Promise to be more careful,” he had said, his gold eyes hard. “I cannot always be here to help you.” Fenris had nodded, and from then on always used a different entrance.

Fenris stifled a sigh as he watched the bumpy dirt below them break off to a smoothed-out stone road. His skin prickled, and he turned to see Taelan looking at him. There was still sorrow in his eyes as he blinked and turned away. Yes, he would need to speak to the other elf soon about all this. If they were going to make it out alive – they needed to know that they could trust one another. Otherwise, none of this was going to work.

***

“Magister Halward, so good to see you again,” Danarius said, inclining his head to the solemn man before him. Magister Halward Pavus was wearing burgundy robes trimmed with gold, and his black hair was expertly groomed back out of his lightly lined face. He gave his master a cold half-smile.

“Danarius,” he said with a small bow before waving his hand for the magister to join him. Halward lived on the outskirts of Minrathous by the sea, in a large mansion that overlooked the Nocen Sea. “I see you finally found your pet.”

“Indeed,” Danarius said as he sat at the small table. He glanced over his shoulder, and Fenris lowered his head as to avoid his eyes. “Hadriana managed to bring him back to me.”

“How nice.”

“Now, Halward, what can I do for you?”

“Well, you see, it is a matter of utmost sensitivity. Your discretion would be greatly appreciated.”

Danarius leaned back with steepled hands. “Do go on.”

“Well, I have heard that you have been… experimenting with the forbidden arts, and in recent weeks you have been successful in one of your attempts.”

“Ah, yes, my experiment with the southern Templar,” Danarius said with a smirk. “It was successful, and with proper upkeep he has managed to stay alive and functioning.”

“I was wondering – or, hoping – that you would share this research with me,” Halward said, his voice uneasy. “I have… a bit of a problem that needs to be dealt with. Something I’m sure you are already aware of.”

“I have heard about that, yes.”

Magister Pavus sighed. “My son doesn’t exactly keep quiet about it.”

“I think I will be able to help you, Halward,” Danarius said with a strange smile, “for a price, of course – and an agreement of your own discretion on the matter in exchange for mine. Can’t have everyone scrambling to get their hands on my research.”

“Of course.”   

The magisters began discussing other matters, and Fenris stole a look at Taelan. He was barely masking his frown as his eyes met Fenris’ briefly. He clearly knew what they were discussing. _Does it have something to do with Carver?_

***

They began their return to Danarius’ estate several hours later. Taelan was no longer avoiding Fenris’ eyes while they were on the carriage, and in an effort to let Taelan know that he was no longer angry, he gave him a small smile. Taelan’s eyes brightened slightly and he returned the smile. They would speak later, he knew – he just hoped that he could explain his plan with Taelan well enough. _But I can’t tell him everything,_ he thought. _I can’t even be sure that it will work but… I have to try. And the fewer people know, the better._

Taelan and Fenris helped Danarius inside and followed him back up the stairs to the library where Hadriana was still flipping through magical theory books. Fenris blinked as he saw Carver still standing in the corner of the room, as though no time had passed. _My plan has to include him_. _I cannot leave my friend like this._

“So what, pray tell, did dear Magister Pavus want?” Hadriana said.

“He wants my research,” Danarius said with a haughty laugh. “The poor man can’t control his son, so he is resorting to more… _forbidden_ methods.”

“This _is_ the same man who sneers at even the mention of blood magic, right?” Hadriana chuckled.

“Indeed. Although, I do believe that with our help he might be thinking _much_ differently from now on.”

“What do you imagine the rest of the Magisterium will think of his new methods?”

“Against an Imperial citizen? And an _altus_ no less?” he chuckled again. “I can’t imagine he’ll receive much of the same support anymore. It is likely he will lose his place.”

Hadriana grinned at him. She didn’t have a seat in the Magisterium – not yet, anyway. But it was clear she wanted one, and Danarius was willing to help her get it. Fenris fought a sneer. His master looked at him then, and he relaxed his face quickly. The magister’s eyes trailed along his body again, and Fenris stared down at the ground.  

“In any event, I’m feeling rather tired. Follow me, you two,” he said, barely motioning to the two elves. The followed him dutifully, and Fenris had an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He remembered that tone from years ago, and he wasn’t sure he could maintain the façade he had created for himself. He could feel Taelan’s eyes on his back, but even in knowing his friend was there, he couldn’t shake the panic thrumming through him. It took everything he had not to vomit on the steps as they descended.

Stepping into his master’s chambers, Fenris was clenching his hands together to keep from shaking. Two guards were stationed outside his chambers, and they eyed him carefully as he slipped through the door. They were armed to the teeth – and clearly guards for hire, not slaves.  

“Prepare my bath,” Danarius said smoothly.

Fenris’ mind was spinning. He wasn’t sure anymore if it was anger or terror that was ripping through him. He stepped carefully over to the large bathtub and began filling it with water that slowly began heating from the hypocaust below – sped up with a carefully placed fire glyph below the tub. The steam licked against his skin, and he shuddered.

When the tub was filled finally, he stepped back into Danarius’ chambers, his head bowed low as he approached his master. Taelan was standing by the door, his arms crossed behind his back. Fenris dared not sneak a glance, lest he break his current mask. The magister held his arms out and Fenris pulled gently at the fabric. He tried to think of something – anything – that would help as it used to. The open sea, glass exploding from a wine bottle he threw at a wall, fierce blue eyes… he pushed that one away. Danarius would not be breathing now if she knew.

The silk fabric was in bundles in his hands, and he took them carefully to the other side of the room along with the rest of his master’s laundry. He avoided looking at his friend again, but Taelan’s anger was almost tangible as Fenris’ eyes slipped across his tense posture.

_And there was nothing he could do._

Fenris followed his master into the bathing chamber and kept his eyes downcast as he listened to the man step carefully into the water and give out a satisfied groan. Fenris stood dutifully beside the bath, his body angled slightly away from his master.

“Fenris,” Danarius hummed expectantly.

He almost broke composure. He thought of all the ways he could get out of this – he could break his neck, stab him with the knife across the room used for shaving… but he would not be able to escape. There were no windows here, no vents large enough for him to slip through.

 _I am trapped._ And the guards would kill him quickly – his shackles kept his markings from working as they used to. _I am powerless._

He reached over and pulled out one of the soft cloths Danarius preferred and one of the bottles of perfumed soap.

“You remember which one I prefer,” Danarius said with an affectionate tone.

Fenris said nothing as he prepared to wash the man. Shakily, Fenris scrubbed his skin lightly, trying desperately to not vomit. _That would make this worse._ The magister shifted slightly as he scrubbed down his back. He pushed back his thoughts and remembered his plan – he was going to get Taelan and Carver out. Numbing his thoughts, he clenched his teeth and continued.

 _Soon, Master, your life will be over._  

***

Taelan rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. His heart ached terribly, and it took all his self-restraint not to go drown the magister in that instant. Fenris had already been through so much, and it didn’t take much to guess what his life had been like before he escaped Danarius’ estate all those years ago. He gripped his hands tightly behind his back until they screamed with pain.

Fenris had smiled at him earlier – a silent truce that he knew would be understood. Maybe he didn’t quite trust him yet, but Taelan imagined that he wasn’t too far off. Fenris at least recognized that he was only trying to help him. The elf was stubborn, but he’d have to be truly foolish not to accept help.

He could hear the water rippling from the other room and he pressed his lips together. Taelan’s jaw locked. He hoped to all the gods that Danarius was not going to try anything. Some part of him reasoned that the magister would be foolish to do anything this soon after Fenris had come back. Even if he was, he wouldn’t leave himself vulnerable to the elf trying to kill him. Unless… Taelan’s stomach clenched. _Unless that’s why he demanded my presence._ Oh, he was a fool. Of _course_ that was why he was here. The blood within his veins burned. Whether or not Fenris remembered, and whether or not he felt the same way, Taelan still cared about him deeply. He could not stand by and…

There was a murmur from the other room, followed by water splashing over the side of the tub. Danarius stepped out of the room, and Taelan dropped his eyes slightly. Through his peripherals, he could see him step towards Fenris, who looked as though he were cowering. His heart clenched tightly.

The Magister made a grab for the elf, who barely let out a whisper of a protest, and yanked him into a violent kiss. Fenris pushed back slightly, as per his own instincts. He tried to block out the sounds as the magister ground himself against the elf. _This is my fault. Gods, I cannot watch. I should have just warned him and tried to protect him in Kirkwall. I should have…_ But Taelan heard a small sob come from the elf and his eyes snapped up.

The magister laughed. “Oh, come now, Fenris, it’s not that bad. You once had affection for me. I remember it fondly.” Fenris didn’t reply, but Taelan could see the light from his markings shuddering alive slightly – even with the shackles on.

It didn’t seem to escape Danarius’ notice, either. But that didn’t seem to hinder the man’s lust. He pushed Fenris back on his bed, and began to rip off the elf’s leggings. Taelan’s breathing quickened as he watched Fenris begin to cover his face with his forearms… preparing…

“ _STOP,”_ he heard himself shout. The magister whipped his face to Taelan, his wicked face twisting into a fierce glare.

“You _dare_ ,” he started to say.

Taelan let out a growl, fire growing at his fingertips as his pushed the almost long-forgotten power within himself and aimed it at the man’s head. Danarius blocked it instantly, his eyes wide with shock. The guards from outside the door ripped open the door, and Taelan leaped in front of Fenris. The elf pulled out the sword strapped to his back – and the blade lit on fire as he swung it, preparing to fight the magister.

Danarius stepped back, his arms folded as the guards surrounded him.

“I knew you would not be as loyal as you claimed,” the magister spat. “Take him away.”

The guards lunged for him but with a quick motion, he brought forth cone of cold, freezing them instantly. They shattered, all falling to the ground. He swung his sword again and fired several shots of fire at the magister as he tried to jump for his own staff.

The magister threw his own blast of ice, trapping Taelan. The blond elf bared his teeth as he glared at the approaching magister. Danarius looked dumbstruck.

“How have you harnessed your power without practice?” he said, holding his staff out in front of him.

Taelan tilted his chin upward. The magical guise he had been wearing began to fade, revealing the branches of his vallaslin. _Mythal guide me._ “I was my Keeper’s First in Clan Lavellan. I have trained in more ancient magicks than you and your kind could ever _dream_.” His eyes glared deep into the grey eyes of the magister's, and let years of venom seep into his words. “We are the last of the elvhen. _Never again shall we submit._ ”  

With that, Danarius waved his staff to finish the job. Taelan stared him down, accepting his fate. The staff swung forward, and a glowing hand reached from behind them, grabbing it in mid-air. Taelan’s breath hitched. The elf was growling fiercely, watching as Danarius began to cower beneath him. Fenris reached back, his hand ready to tear the heart from the man.

 _We have won._ Taelan’s heart was soaring.

Suddenly a flash of white light erupted from the doorway, slamming against Fenris. The elf went flying back, crashing against the far wall. His markings flashed, the glow covering his skin completely. Taelan let out a cry of anger, breaking free from the ice. Hadriana blasted the sword from his hand, but still he brought his fist forward, knocking Danarius out cold. The Magister fell to the ground in a heap, and Taelan turned to Hadriana. She threw lightning at him and he blocked it instantly, throwing ice back at her.

“Give up, knife-ear!” she said casting lightning quickly. Blocking each bolt, he charged at her, grabbing his sword on the way. He swung it at her, almost slicing across her neck. She hurled herself back and used a mind blast to knock him back. She threw another blast off ice at him, hitting true. He froze in place again, clenching his teeth.

“ _Guards_ ,” she yelled.

The sound of clanking metal echoed through the halls as the guards approached. They surrounded him. Hadriana pulled herself and glared at him.

“Take him to the dungeons and put him in the same chains we use for Fenris.”

The guards nodded and yanked him up, the ice shattering beneath him. He turned his head to see Fenris, still unconscious, on the other side of the room. Fenris wasn’t bleeding, but his markings were still glowing softly. _I will come back for you,_ he silently promised.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! New chapters are coming soon <3


	29. Taelan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh! I am so, so sorry it took so long to post this. I was studying abroad for a bit and it was hard to focus on this piece - but we're back! I'll be posting more regularly now so never fear! We are nearing the finish line. Thank you so much for reading and being patient with me!

Loose, blond tendrils fell past Taelan’s shoulders and down his bare chest that was now covered in forest green branches of vallaslin that stretched down his abdomen and shoulders. Danarius had let him keep his hair long because the magister enjoyed him more that way – wild and untamable. He supposed it made _taming him_ so much more gratifying. The cell that they had put him in was far more confining than Fenris’ was – but with good reason. The walls were solid iron, and the door was warded with a complicated spell. A small slit of a window was above him, a small stream of daylight piercing through the darkness. 

Taelan looked down at his vallaslin and smiled. For years, he had been using that guise – partly to keep his magic strong, and partly to protect his clan. If they knew that he was Dalish, they would hunt down his clan and take them all to the Imperium to be sold like cattle. So when the slavers came, he hid his vallaslin before they caught him, as his Keeper had taught him mere months before. He had only been thirteen. _Has it truly been ten years?_ But ever since, he has prepared to escape this hell and find his clan. He just needed to keep them a secret long enough.  

 _But now they know._    

He wasn’t about to let them use him. In his mind, he pictured his little sister, Ellana, who was so already skilled with a bow and arrow at eleven, running wild across the plains of the Free Marches. They were free, and he would die before letting the damnable slavers get their hands on her. He rested his head back, watching the light outside dim slowly. He cracked his neck and stood up, twisting his chains. The door from above the dungeon opened as if on cue, and he heard two pairs of footsteps descend toward his cell. _Two? I’m almost insulted._ He knelt forward, his head bowed low.

The guards opened the door. He could almost hear the sneer from one of the guards.

_Perfect, they put Silus on this shift. I will have to be precise – a chance like this will not come again._

As soon as one of the guards set the food down, Taelan shot his face upward, meeting Silus’ eyes. The guard had a notorious hatred for the elf, and an uncontrollable temper. Silus’ jaw locked as the elf stared him down, and just like magic…

The guard let out a growl and swung his hand down to strike the elf. Taelan’s arms flew up, capturing the guard’s forearm and twisting it behind his back. He threw him down quickly and kicked sideways, nailing the second guard in the groin before swiftly kicking him in the head. The guard hits the wall and falls to the ground. _Out cold._ He shot his knee up to Silus’ back and tackled him to the ground. Gripping the guard’s arm tightly he reached forward and snapped his neck, then pulled the keys from his pocket. Unlocking his shackles, he strapped on the weapons the guards had carried with them, and slipped out of his cage.

Through a door to his right was the guards’ mess hall. Three guards were sitting at a table in the center of the room. Taking one of the daggers he swiped off of the guards, he launched the blade into the back of one of the guards and pulled out duel swords as the other two guards launched into action. Flipping the blades in his hands, he let his inner fire ignite them and swung effortlessly at the guards. It always felt like a dance of sorts to him, this sort of fighting, what with the spinning around his opponents as he artfully cut them down.

He swung his blades forward, slicing their necks open, blood dribbling down their silver armor. The guards collapsed to the ground, and he sheathed his blades. Bolting to the second door, he made his way through the dark corridor beside the slave quarters. He heard a hum of voices on the far side and hid in a dark corner.

“You cannot be serious,” he heard Hadriana say. “That elf should be put to death. It isn’t as if he has the lyrium markings – he holds no value!”

“He is still skilled,” Danarius chided her, “and we may even be able to use him to find his clan. Once we break his mind, he will be as useful to us as Carver.”

Hadriana sighed. “Fine. But I imagine that you will need to do the same for Fenris, too. He almost _killed_ you.”

“My little wolf would never kill me,” Danarius chuckled. “But I suppose you are right. Call for Livia, have him healed, and then prepare the ritual.” _No._

“Understood.”  

 _No, no, no. I cannot let them…_ Taelan closed his eyes briefly. He had to get out of there. He stayed there until he was sure the mages had left. Pulling himself into one of the rooms, he took out on of his daggers and knelt on the ground, prying open one of the floorboards. Inside were his fighting leathers. He had snuck into the armory a week prior – just in case. _Turns out my inkling was correct._ Slipping into them quickly, he made his way out of the room. Taelan peered around the corner of the last room and saw Fenris lying on one of the cots. His heart broke. _I will come back for you._ Every part of him wanted to sling the elf over his shoulder and carry him out, but he would not have the proper tools to heal him. Danarius, the damnable rake, would make sure his slave was in excellent condition before performing any sort of ritual on him. It was then that he would need to come back. Emory would tell him, he knew. She knew of all his plans – even if she didn’t approve. The damned girl said she wouldn’t come with him, despite his urgings. _I don’t think I would know what to even_ do _with my freedom,_ she had told him. _If I had a family, maybe I would want to. But my life, my friends… everything is here._ Taelan knew that he could never force her to leave – even if he wanted to. He snuck forward, listening carefully as he tiptoed up the steps. The mansion had an eerie buzz of silence to it. The servants were likely too afraid to make a single sound. He peered around the corner. He knew the guard rotations, all the blind spots, and he doubted that Danarius or the head guard had a chance to change it – but he still needed to be cautious.

He stepped out, keeping close to the wall, nearing the back door of the mansion. It was risky, but all he had to do was make it over the wall. Creeping forward he slipped through the back door and quietly made his way toward the wall. He heard a crunch of a step and moved to hide in the bushes, wincing at the small brush of noise he made. Looking through the small gaps in the leaves, he saw a guard turning around the corner, her hand held steadily on the hilt of her sword. She peered around, clearly having heard him, and carefully scanned the wall. Pulling her sword from its sheath, she stretched it out and plunged it into the bush before continuing her way forward, the blade cutting through leaves. He pressed himself closer to the wall and held his breath. Her blade was cutting through the bushes fast, and he fought not to close his eyes as she closed in on him. He swore he could hear his own heartbeat as the blade was suddenly in front of him, almost nicking his chest. The blade continued on, and the guard sighed as she pulled it back and continued on her way. He closed his eyes and slowly exhaled. He would need to stay in this bush for a while. There was a small break in between shifts that would happen at nightfall, and then he would be able to climb over the wall and escape. His thoughts wandered to the thought of Fenris alone in the mansion without him, and he pushed it away. _Getting worked up will only make me reckless._

***

After nightfall, Taelan slid through the bushes to the back part of the garden – the one temporary blind spot on the perimeter. Pulling himself up, he launched his body over the side and slowly lowered himself on the other side of the ledge. As he dangled on the edge, he looked down. The fall was not too long, but it would probably hurt. There were no ledges he could reach, or ivy he could climb to. He would need to let go. He slowly let go with one hand and winced as he let himself drop. The earth rose to meet him and he felt a sharp pain shoot through his legs. Biting his lip to keep from crying out, he slowly rose back up. There was another mansion down the road, but thankfully there was an orchard up ahead that he could use as cover to get away. He slipped through the trees and sighed when he could finally walk freely. He pulled an apple from one of the trees and ate it gingerly, his stomach feeling as though it were going to cave in on itself.

As he walked through the dense line of trees, his mind went through his plan over and over as it had been doing for the last several hours. He had a backup plan, of course, but he would not mess this up. Not when the people he cared about were at stake. He desperately wanted to see Ellana and his clan again, but somehow the ache that he had once felt became numb over the years – and he knew that the time would come when he saw them again. As the moonlight trickled through the trees, he tried to remember the last time he’d felt this alive – this free. He smiled as he remembered his days in the woods with the other hunters from his clan – how they taught him to move silently and quickly through the trees. He was a natural, they had said. The Huntress Andruil must have favored him. He wasn’t sure if he believed in the elven gods anymore, but some part of him had always held on to hope that maybe, just maybe, the Creators cared enough about him to keep him safe.

A twig snapped in front of him. He froze for a millisecond and pulled himself behind a tree, listening carefully. Wet noises were coming from a few yards away, and he frowned. _Was that…_ He peered around the tree to see two dark figures pressed together against a tree. _Kissing._ He held back a snicker and looked around to see if there was a way to slip past them unnoticed. There was a tree nearby… _I could slip over to that one and go unnoticed. They likely are too busy, anyway._ He stepped forward and reached for the tree.

The kissing stopped. In a moment of panic, Taelan froze.

“Someone’s there!” a gruff voice hissed.

“Hey!” another voice called.

His hand lowered to his dagger as he turned. He didn’t wish to kill anyone tonight, but he would to keep his cover.

“Andraste’s tits, Cassius! Wait!” Taelan saw one of the figures bolt through the trees, while the other turned to look at him and stepped forward quickly. Taelan backed up and held his daggers out, ready to fight. The figure stopped in a beam of moonlight. The man before him was handsome and refined – an _altus_ , no doubt. He had dark skin, bright golden-brown eyes, well-groomed hair, and a clean-shaven face with a perfect jawline. He was wearing fairly casual clothes for an _altus_ , but the leather was still finely made and there were an excessive amount of straps. _What is the point of having that many straps?_ The man folded his arms, revealing one bare shoulder. The man parted his lips, and Taelan could sense nervousness in him. “You didn’t see anything, did you?” the man said softly.

 _Ah._ He was a male _altus_ with his lover in the woods, a lover who had run away when he saw them, and this man – instead of interrogating him as to why he was in the woods – wanted to know what he saw. It didn’t take too long for it to click.

“Nothing at all,” Taelan said smoothly, lowering his daggers.

The man nodded. “Good… good.” His eyes lowered to the ground but he didn’t move.

“Your parents don’t approve then?”

“No,” the man said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Let me guess – you’re arranged to be married, too? Have to continue the family name?”

“Yes… and my father will not even hear of anything else. He thinks the whole act to be vile and repulsive. As though how I feel is some kind of… _defect_ that needs to be fixed _._ I am his only heir, after all. But it will likely no longer be a problem. Especially since Cassius…” he sighed. “Never mind. Don’t know why I’m opening up to a stranger.”

“Because you’ll likely never see me again,” Taelan said with a shrug. “So what’s the harm in me thinking ill of you? It won’t matter anyway.”

“That is true.”

Taelan smiled. He should feel afraid. He should run. But some part of him felt sorry for the altus in front of him. Not everyone was as open as the people of his clan. They believed that mates were chosen no matter what the person looked like – so it didn’t matter the gender. “For what it’s worth,” Taelan went on, “I don’t think it’s a defect. You love whom you love.” The man looked up at him, his eyes bright. As if… almost as if he were surprised.

“You truly believe that?”

Taelan laughed. “Well I probably should, seeing how I’m the same way.”

The man gave an uneasy chuckle. “You are a strange one.”

“We are in the middle of an orchard in the dead of night. It's unlikely you'll stumble upon many normal people.”

The man’s eyebrows furrowed. “Indeed. Why are you out here so late?”

Taelan stiffened, then relaxed his face into a smile. “Just passing through.”

The man gave a smirk. “Somehow I find that hard to believe. Very well, keep your secrets. I never saw you, anyway.”

“Because you were never here,” Taelan finished with a laugh.

“Exactly.”

Taelan smiled and turned to continue on his way.

“Wait!” the man said quickly. “What’s your name, at least?”

He turned his head. “Taelan. And yours?”

“Dorian.”

Taelan inclined his head. “Nice to meet you, Dorian.”

Dorian’s face lit up and Taelan felt his cheeks flush as he slipped away into the night.


	30. Lost In Dreams

Evening cast sharp shadows upon the cobblestone streets when the group finally reached Minrathous. Varric steered the cart that they still rode upon to the sides. The wheels clicked rhythmically as they rolled along, and Hawke scanned the dwindling crowds. Several men in nondescript robes fanned out ahead of them, lighting the lanterns that encircled the main square. The air seemed to glow, and soft street music wafted up from the alleyways, and the market began to lull.

They pulled up to an inn just outside the heart of the city, and both hopped off the cart to tie up the horses. Hawke pulled the cover off of the cart to reveal the rest of the group. Merrill and Anders were fast asleep, while Tallis and Isabela looked restless as ever. Isabela instantly pulled herself out and cracked her neck.

“Never let me do that again,” she said with a smirk. “Those too _definitely_ need a bath.”

Hawke chuckled and shook the other two awake. Merrill’s large green eyes blinked sleepily, and Anders fixed his ponytail before they joined the rest of the group. Hawke led them all into the inn. The door clicked open, a cheery bell chiming, and they walked into a large room filled with many pairs of curious Tevinter eyes.

“You think they noticed us?” Varric muttered under his breath.   

“Definitely not,” Hawke said, stepping forward with her head held high. She approached the innkeeper’s desk and pulled out a sack of coins. “How much for two rooms?”

One of the innkeeper’s dark eyebrows raised toward his hairline. “For… all of you?” His eyes scanned the group, pausing at the two elves and Varric.

“Family reunion,” she said, without skipping a beat.

He frowned.

Hawke leaned in and dropped her voice, “Aunt Susan married twice.”

She swore she heard Varric chuckle.

The innkeeper pursed his lips. “Name?”

“Amell.”

He nodded once. “Ten silver per night.”

She slipped him what was owed and eyed her group. They all looked rather uncomfortable. Hawke shot looks at several patrons who instantly dropped their gazes. The innkeeper waved his hand for them to follow, and the all filed behind him. Hawke didn’t meet any of their eyes after that. This was awkward enough already.

Suddenly she heard Merrill give a sharp cry. She whirled around to see Tallis stepping in front of Merrill, her dagger raised to the throat of an older Tevinter man. He was sneering down at the elves and preparing to strike. Without a second thought, Hawke shot forward and grabbed his raised arm, her knuckles whitening.

“Back off,” she growled.

“Are they yours?” he said, his gaze softening. That made her angrier.

“They are _no one’s._ ”

“Then it doesn’t matter, does it?” He flashed her a wretched smile.

Hawke shoved him back into his chair. He blinked in shock.

“Hawke,” Varric said warningly, tugging at Hawke’s sleeve.

The innkeeper stepped forward timidly, wringing his hands together. “I don’t want any trouble,” he said in an oddly firm voice.

Hawke turned and looked down at him, her face hard. “Then keep your guests off of my friends,” she barked. “Or I will take my business elsewhere.”

“It’s not his fault, Hawke,” Merrill said quietly.

Hawke relaxed her shoulders, still looking down at the innkeeper. “…Please,” she finished.

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” the patron said with a smirk. “Just having a bit of fun.”

Hawke whipped back to him, her gauntlet flashing brightly with the flames that now encircled her hand.

“Hawke!” several voices said behind her. She could hear them surging forward, but her fist was already flying through the air. Another pair of hands flew up in between them, a static charge pulling both Hawke and the patron’s hands tightly at their sides. Lighting licked gently against her skin.

“Whoa!” the stranger said, stepping forward. “You’ll put someone’s eye out doing that.”

“That’s the point,” Hawke retorted.

The man turned to her with a small chuckle. “That may be, but it’ll be easier to clean up outside, yes?” His brown eyes twinkled. He was oddly attractive for a man with a moustache. She frowned.

“As for you,” the mustachioed man said, turning back to the patron. “These people are clearly not from here and are in need of rest, not being grabbed by random strangers. Show some propriety. After all, we are in Tevinter, not some savage city in the South.”

Hawke shot a glare and he winked at her.

The patron nodded and shirked away. The man gave her a polite nod and started to return to his seat when the patron spoke up, his voice laced with cowardly venom.   

“You’re one to speak of propriety, pillow biter.”    

The man flinched for a half a second before continuing on. As though he were accustomed to the insult. Hawke’s fists clenched.

“Come on, Hawke,” Anders said, gently touching her shoulder. “He’s not worth it.”

The rest of the group followed the innkeeper, and Hawke reluctantly followed behind. She shot one last look at the patron, who was still smirking.

***

From beneath his hood, Taelan watched the scene before him unfold. A dark-haired woman and her band of mismatched companions had seemed to barrel into the inn without considering any form of tact, and _of course_ caused a stir. _That has to be her_. The group disappeared upstairs, and he watched the man he’d seen in the orchard start to leave, heard the words the mouthy _soporati_ threw at him. His heart clenched. As soon as Dorian was seated and the woman he assumed was Hawke had left, the patron waved to his friends and started to make his way out of the inn. Taelan slipped from his seat and casually followed the man out of the inn.

***

The white-hot pain that wracked through his core began to dull as Fenris opened his eyes. Moonlight shone above him, and he frowned as he sat up. He was in the middle of the streets of a strange city, the sounds of a full tavern echoing through the empty streets. He could hear footsteps behind him and he jumped up quickly to see a young elven man with dark hair standing in front of a young human woman with long, black hair. _Another dream… another memory._ He walked closer to them. The woman seemed… familiar. 

The woman reached up and stroked the elven man’s cheek, a smile spreading wide across her face. Fenris stepped forward slowly, his brows furrowing. The elf lifted his hand to hers, almost as if her touch surprised him, but he didn’t push her away. His cheeks reddened slightly. 

“Is there any way I can see you sooner?” the woman said, tilting her head to the side.

Fenris blinked. _That’s…_

“I am sorry,” the elf replied. Fenris’ eyes widened. He knew her. She was younger, four or five years younger maybe? But why would he be seeing this? He couldn’t remember ever being here, or seeing her here. “Leaving the estate even for a few hours a week is dangerous.”

Marian dropped her hand and crossed her arms across her chest. “One day I’ll find a way to free you, Leto,” she said softly.

“You don’t…” he said scratching the back of his neck. “I will find a way.”

Marian bit her lip and stared at him for a few moments. “I hope so.” She stepped forward and stood up on the balls of her feet as she kissed him lightly on his cheek. Without another word, she left him in the alleyway, her face reddening as she hurried away. Leto looked on at her, his cheeks still red as he seemed to be processing what had just happened. The scene blurred as his shadow-self wandered back down the alleyway.

He knew her before he lost his memories. _She_ knew _him_ before he lost his memories. She had answers about his _past_ and could have helped him find his family. Did she not think that he deserved to know? Had she even _tried_ to tell him?

Fenris thought back to when they first met. She had seemed flustered and nervous for some strange reason. She had tried to ask him about his childhood… _Oh._ Hawke had tried to talk to him about it – and he had explained that he lost his memories. He frowned. _But why would she decide to keep it from me?_  

There was a small tug within his reality, pulling him towards Leto. He followed the elf, turning corner after corner until they reached a large mansion on the edge of the main city. The elf snuck around the back, and Fenris followed quickly behind and descended down a small staircase on the side of the house that he assumed led to the slave quarters. There was a hallway with several large rooms, all of them warm and candlelit. Leto turned into one of the rooms and Fenris followed, stopping dead in the doorway. He hugged an older elven woman, and sat on the floor beside another elven woman who was much younger, placing a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese beside it. _My mother and sister._ His sister had a sullen expression on her face as she watched Leto.

“You know, one day they’re going to catch you.”

“Varania,” their mother warned.

“Well? He will! And then we’ll get in trouble for not saying anything.”

“Why does this bother you so?” Leto said, frowning. “It’s not as though I have any more freedom than you do.”

Varania rolled her eyes. “Yes, but unlike you, I will not risk my current position to go fuck some Ferelden bitch one night a week.”

“ _Varania._ ” Their mother stared her down. “That is quite enough. After all, it is not as though he has developed an attachment to the human.” Leto didn’t look at his mother. The woman raised a single finger to Varania. “And even so, she has graciously shared what food she can with us. Do not bite the hand that feeds.”

Fenris’ jaw locked. His mother turned back to Leto, her eyes softening. “But your sister is right, Leto. We have fared well with her generosity, but we will not be able to do this for much longer. Our Master is getting suspicious, and you are getting too old. I’m sorry but you may need to tell your friend that you can no longer see her – for all our sakes.”

Leto nodded slowly. Even though he said nothing, Fenris could remember. He had been wracking his head for days with that same thought – the thought that he would soon need to break off his friendship with Marian. She was getting too close… and his own emotions were starting to betray him. The scene faded and Fenris fell back into the burning darkness.

He was in the streets of Denerim again, the sun setting behind him, oranges and pinks painting the sky. He caught a glimpse of Leto in the alley again. Marian and two others stood in front of him this time. _That’s… Carver. And…_ He stared at the young woman beside them. She had dark hair like Marian, and a rounder face. She was laughing at something her sister had said, and Marian was smiling at her with a twinkle in her eyes. “Bethany,” he said softly. _He had known Bethany._ Something deep within him gripped tightly. The memories were flooding back. He knew her, she was his friend. _And now she’s dead._ He pushed the thoughts back. Grieving now wasn’t going to help this situation.

The three of them were scurrying off down another alleyway and climbing up the side of a building. With a flash he was with them again as they sat, admiring the far-off shores of the Amaranthine Ocean. _Is that why… why the waves calm me?_

He shook his head. He was done with this memory already. He turned around and suddenly he was watching as three humans moved to attack Leto and Marian. One of the men threw Leto to the ground, and Fenris could remember the pain. _The humiliation._ Marian, in her rage, had a knife to one of the thug’s throat. She was spitting threats at him. _As she would. Even in the past, she could not tolerate such things._  

Leto was pulling her away from them, and he followed them down another corner.

“What were you thinking?” Leto snapped.

“They wanted to hurt you,” she said, her teeth clenched. “I couldn’t just stand there and let them.”

“You did not need to risk your life for mine,” he said, his frown deepening. “I am an elven slave.”

Her face softened at his words. “You really believe that your life is worth less than mine?”

He said nothing as his face fell.

“You are a _person_ , Leto.” She took his hand in hers and kissed his cheek. “Meet me tomorrow, in the marketplace.” Leto nodded and she left him again.  

Suddenly sunlight appeared from above, the brightness swelling as the streets began to fill with merchants, beggars, and children. Marian was pulling him from the city, her face bright. Fenris could remember thinking about how much he wanted to lose himself in her smile – as he often wished. But it was today, he knew. The last day they would speak for a very long time.

He saw them on the shore, watched as she laughed and blushed fiercely as Leto had given up and decided to let go. He watched as Leto left her standing there, arms limp at her sides, as both of them shattered from the pain he had inflicted.

 _This. This is why._ He had run away when he was afraid, and Marian had known. She still knew. Part of him was angry that she had not told him sooner – but he understood why she didn’t lead with that conversation. _But that doesn’t explain why she didn’t tell me after she knew that I trusted her._ Or… had she tried?

He gave out a frustrated sigh. That was what she had been trying to tell him during their last night together. But she had decided at the last second not to tell him.

The memory began to fade, until all that was left was the shore and the lapping water of the Amaranthine. The pain from before started to rise up within him again, and he crumpled to the ground, holding his head between his knees as he clenched his teeth. _Make it stop._ The air around him thickened, and he started as he looked up. The world looked strange, contorted… _Is this… the Fade?_ A strange silhouette passed in front of him and he jumped back. Looking around, he frowned. _This is a memory. I was here the day I got my markings. Perhaps the lyrium…?_ His heart beat quickly as he saw the memory of Leto across the small patch of land they were standing on. Leto was crumpled over, his skin erupting with cuts and the silver beginnings of his tattoo.

He watched as Leto struggled to stand, and walked forward. He struggled as he stepped across the path barefoot. _This was after the competition._ Leto stumbled as he reached his hand out. There was a woman there, wandering around as though she were dreaming. She turned to see Leto as he collapsed, and she reached out for him. _Marian._ She lifted her hands to his head and light glowed softly from her fingers. _She was there… she had been trying to help._ She kissed his forehead gently. Suddenly a flash of light burst from the elf, throwing her back several feet and knocking her head on a rock. Fenris leapt forward and slid to her side. She was rubbing her head as she sat back up and stared at Leto.

“You are… just a demon,” she breathed. Tears welled in her eyes as her jaw locked and she moved to cast a spell. Fenris’ breath hitched. _It’s just a memory._ Leto’s form began to disintegrate, as well as Fenris’ vision. Everything was gone. He was alone in the darkness.

A silver light glowed just below his feet. He stepped back and watched as a silver wall rose up in front of him. Within the wall were the designs that had been carved into his own skin. The wall rose higher and higher, and his throat bobbed. This wall… this was the reason he could not remember anything. The lyrium had created a block in his mind, tainting him inside and out.

And he was on the wrong side of the wall.

***

Fenris’ eyes blinked open. He sat up quickly, his mind numb. A woman was standing over him, her brown eyes full of concern. Her black hair was neatly twisted and pulled back from her face to reveal her smooth complexion and soft facial features.  

“Ah, he’s awake,” Danarius said. “Thank you for healing him, Livia. Normally, I would have used one of my healers here, but you can understand my worry.” His master gestured to the markings.

“Of course,” the woman said with a warm smile as she stood up to turn to him. “I’m glad I could be of help to you, Magister Danarius. He should be much better now.”

“Good, good,” he nodded.

“If that will be all, I will be on my way,” she said smoothly, glancing back at Fenris. Worry still lingered on her face, as though she cared about what happened to him. “Please let me know if you need anything more.”

His master inclined his head slightly as she turned and left the room. Fenris sat up slowly from the cot he had been laying on. He said nothing as he knelt to the ground before his master, not saying a word. 

“Now, Fenris,” Danarius started, turning back to him. His voice stopped abruptly, as though he were assessing the slave that was before him. He reached down with his thumb and index finger and tilted the elf’s face up toward him. He turned Fenris’ face to the side, assessing it carefully. The markings no longer were glowing, and the elf felt a sense of calm that he had never known. Danarius pulled his hand away, frowning.  

“What does my master wish of me?” Fenris said, his voice soft. 

“Interesting,” he said slowly. “Over your little rebellion with Taelan already, I see?”

“My only wish is to serve you,” the elf said, his eyes staring at his hands beneath him.

Danarius chuckled. “I may have to thank Hadriana for whatever she did. Come, Fenris. We have much to do if we are to prepare for the ridiculous little party Halward and his wife are putting together tomorrow.”

“Of course, Master,” Fenris said, following behind the magister as they left the room.


	31. A Friend in Minrathous

The rooms were cramped. Hawke expected nothing less from an inn smack dab in the middle of town, but one bed for four women felt like a bit much. Isabela had rolled her eyes and opted to sleep in the other room with Varric and Anders, making things a bit easier – but Hawke still felt as though she were going to suffocate. There was a small window that looked over the back alley, and there was hardly any space between the bed and the wardrobe that someone had managed to squeeze through the door. The air was thick with the heat that still lingered from the warm northern day. Merrill sneezed violently, and Tallis chuckled.

“It is a bit dusty in here,” the rogue said, laying her things down in the corner of the room.

Merrill sniffed and sat on the bed, curling her feet around her legs. “At least there are no rats.”

“No, just bugs,” Tallis said, picking up a small dark bug crawling up the wall and setting it free outside the window. Hawke felt like her head was swimming.

“I’m going to go get a drink,” she said suddenly.

The two elves blinked at her. “Do you want company?” Merrill asked cheerily.

Hawke cracked a fake smile. “Thanks, but no. I’ll be back in a little while.”

Without another word, she left the room and found her way back to the main room of the inn. She ignored all the eyes that were resting heavily on her. Ordering a tankard of ale, she made a beeline for a small table in the far corner of the room. She rubbed her temples, sending small waves of healing magic from her fingertips to heal the headache that throbbed behind her eyes.

“Mind if I join you?” a silky voice said in front of her. She looked up and saw the strange man again. He had a perfectly groomed mustache and wore dark, elegant Tevinter clothing.

“No, go ahead,” she said, resting her hands around her tankard.

“Thank you,” he said politely, taking his seat across from her. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, what brings a Ferelden woman all the way up to Minrathous?”

Hawke frowned.

“It’s the accent,” he shrugged. “Not many people from the south come up here.”

“Actually we came up here from Kirkwall.”

“Ah,” he said. “But you are from Ferelden, yes?”

“Yes,” Hawke chuckled. “You are correct on that front.”

“Excellent,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I do so hate to be wrong. But you have not yet answered my question.”

She bit her lip. She wasn’t quite sure if she could trust him, and he was a very powerful mage – and clearly a nobleman. One wrong move could mean death. His face was unreadable. That meant that he had his guard up, too.

She shrugged. “Trade.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Trading what? Nugs? Templars? I hear they’re a bit stuffy down there.”

Hawke’s mouth twitched. “Well, seeing how I don’t even know your name, I’m not sure why I would tell you.”

“Oh, where are my manners? I’m Dorian, of House Pavus,” he said, inclining his head slightly.

She smiled. “Pleasure to meet you, Dorian.”

“And you?”

She shifted in her seat. “No one of consequence.”

“Oh surely that isn’t true,” he said. “You walked in here without even a shred of fear on your face, and scared the living daylights out of everyone. If you were no one, you would think it would show a little bit more.”

She sighed. It wasn’t as though he would know who she was by name, anyway. “You can call me Hawke.” She took a sip of her drink.

He frowned. “Like the Champion of Kirkwall?”

She stopped mid-drink, and slowly set her tankard down.

His eyes widened and he pulled himself forward. “You even have the scar!”

_How the hell does he know about that?_

Dorian laughed, disbelieving. “You probably hear this a lot, but I imagined you a bit bigger.”

Hawke blinked. “Bigger?”

“My mistake, clearly. You seem like a very capable mage.”

“Wait,” Hawke said, holding up her hand. “How do you…?”

“How do I know? Well, news does travel fast when a mage from Kirkwall takes down a Qunari Arishok in single combat. Especially around here. You must know about the war between us and our dear neighbors from Par Vollen, yes?”

“Well, yes,” Hawke said. “But that happened a week ago.”

Dorian shrugged. “You’re a legend. It only makes sense that everyone would be gossiping about such a feat.”

Hawke sighed. “Well, keep quiet about me being here, then.”

“So we can safely assume you’re not here for trade, then, yes?”

 _Ugh._ Hawke took a swig of her ale. “Fine. I’m not.”

“There, that’s not so hard, is it?” he said. His shoulders seemed to relax a bit, his face a bit softer.

“I’m here to find my… friend,” she said. “But first I have to find the person he’s staying with.” Not a lie, but still not enough to raise too many suspicions. She hoped.

Dorian nodded, “Whom might that be?”

“Uhm,” she shifted. _Should I tell him? Will it give me away?_ Something about this man seemed… trustworthy. She had seen how he’d been treated by that homophobic patron – perhaps he wasn’t the kind of person to like someone like Danarius? It was a leap, for sure, but she was at a loss for where to even start looking. “Do you happen to know Magister Danarius?”

His brows furrowed. “Unfortunately.”

She could almost breathe a sigh of relief. This was a good start. But she wasn’t ready to play all of her cards. Not until she knew exactly where his allegiances lied. “What do you mean?”

“He’s close with my father,” he said, “so I usually only see him at parties. But he’s not someone I would willingly have dinner with.”

“I see.”

Dorian stared at her for a moment, seeming to be assessing her every movement. “He is a rather unpleasant man. Are you sure this person is staying with him? I haven’t known him to be hospitable to anyone save his apprentice, Hadriana.” He looked up for a moment, contemplating. “And probably his prized slave, too. Poor lad.”

Hawke kept herself still, but the mage’s eyes fell back onto her. He furrowed. “And he did just arrive back in Minrathous not too long ago.”

Hawke kept her eyes locked with his. Any response would render her vulnerable to revealing the truth. _But what if he already knows? Perhaps I can trust him with the truth?_

“The slave is your friend, is he not?”

Hawke’s fingers tightened around her drink. _Dammit._

“Thought so,” Dorian said with a chuckle. “You know it’s going to take a lot for Danarius to even consider releasing him to you.”

“I wasn’t going to ask,” she said. “Fenris is a person, not his property.”

“That may well be true,” Dorian said with a sigh, “but unfortunately that isn’t how our laws work. Without the permission of the head of the family – Danarius in this case – Fenris will always be a slave. Should he leave, he will always be hunted.”

 _Hunted._ Like he were some kind of wild animal. The thought made Hawke’s stomach roil. No, she wasn’t about to let him live with that for the rest of his life. She would make sure that he left Tevinter a free man. For good.  

Hawke bit her lip. “Does he have any family?”

“Not ones that I know of. He is unmarried and without any family to nag on him about it.” Dorian scowled deeply. “An aspect about him that I’m rather envious of.”

“And what if he were no longer in the picture?” Hawke said darkly. “Without anyone to claim Fenris, he would be free surely?”

Dorian chuckled. “You would need to get rid of his apprentice as well. She is likely the heir to everything he owns.”

“I don’t see a problem with that,” Hawke muttered, looking down at her drink that was nearly empty.

“Well, let’s not resort to drastic measures so quickly. It would take an incredible amount of convincing,” Dorian said, touching his chin contemplatively, “but I imagine with the right leverage, you could find a way to get him to release Fenris.”

“But I don’t have anything that Danarius would want,” Hawke said.

“Perhaps not, but who says you need to bribe him? Blackmail alone has done more than that. I imagine I could help you in that regard. Besides, there’s a ball happening tomorrow night. It would be the most opportune time to corner him. My family is arranging it, so I could easily get you in.”

Hawke frowned. “Why are you helping me? What would you have to gain?”

Dorian’s jaw locked. “I’ve seen the way he treats people, and I’ve seen how he treats his slaves. No one deserves that.”

“How altruistic of you.”

“I always aim to please,” he said with a wink.  

She laughed. “You’re not like a lot of people from Tevinter that we hear about down south.”

He chuckled. “No, I imagine not. I’m not as _traditional_ as most of my fellow countrymen. In any event, I have the means to help you and any chance to humiliate Danarius is one I will gladly take. My father wouldn’t be too displeased, either. They two aren’t exactly bosom friends.”

“So what do you suggest we do?”

“Well,” he said, straightening, “First, we need a bit of leverage. Then we’ll need to get you invitations – I’ll only be able to get you and one other person in, though you might be able to have one of your elven friends pretend to be a slave. They won’t count as a guest. Yes, I know, but for the moment it’s convenient,” he said, noting her face darkening. “Once you are in, it’s up to you. I can only help you get there.”

“Any help you can offer is better than nothing,” Hawke said. “You have no reason to risk your neck for me.”

“On the contrary. I will risk my neck for anyone who fights for what is right. But I would prefer to do it in the least risky way. Makes for less of a mess later.”

“Fair enough.”

“Now,” he said, standing up, “the most harrowing part of the plan.”

“Which is?”

He raised one eyebrow, a smirk growing on his face. “Looking the part.”

“Can’t I just wear all black and scowl?”

He laughed. “You’re well on your way. But no guest of mine is going dressed in a simple black garb they picked up off the street. And you’ll need to know a few things about Tevinter etiquette. You’ll be noticed rather quickly if you act too much like a Southerner.”

Hawke sighed. “Alright. Tell me what to do.”


	32. The Great Game: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait! I should probably let you guys know that I'm going to be graduating in two weeks so that's why I haven't been posting much. But! I might be able to get through finishing school and my writer's block so I can write more over the summer. I have the rest of the fic planned and some chapters already written, so they will be posted as soon as they're ready! 
> 
> Thanks for being patient with me <3

“How do you know we can trust him?” Varric muttered to her as they followed Dorian up the pathway to his parents’ estate the next afternoon. “You don’t think he’s going to be using us for some kind of blood ritual, do you?”

“Well he’s not the only blood mage here so he wouldn’t have the leg up on us necessarily.”

Varric grimaced. “Right. You and Daisy really scare the piss out of me sometimes, you know.”

Hawke grinned down at him. "Don't worry, Varric. He seems trustworthy to me." 

"And your judgment has always been perfect," the dwarf snickered.

"Oh hush, you."

They went around the estate and entered through a door that opened to the east wing. Candles lined the deep red walls, lighting the portraits of dark-haired nobles who likely belonged to the Pavus family. Dorian led them to a room on the far end of the hall. Two sofas sat atop a rug that stretched across the marble floor, with their family emblem weaved throughout swirling patterns. The windows on the other side of the room stretched to the ceiling, pillows stacked neatly on the little reading nooks. Bookshelves lined the walls in this room, stuffed tightly with various tomes and scrolls. 

“Please, make yourselves at home,” Dorian said, waving his hand toward the sofas. “Marian, dear, come with me and bring your friend. The seamstress brought over your clothes this morning.”

Hawke raised her eyebrows. “You weren’t kidding when you said she worked quickly.” The night before, Dorian had helped Hawke find a seamstress to alter one of his mother’s old dresses, and hem formalwear for Anders.

“Well, she is actually very skilled with magic, and all of the material was already there. It was just your dress that she had to spend time adjusting. Fashions change ever so quickly, it’s hard for even fabric to keep up.”

She and Anders followed the altus mage through a door that led down another hallway, and showed them each to their own rooms. As Hawke walked through the doorway, she gasped at the three elves that were waiting for her. They all inclined their heads and ushered her inside. She turned back to Dorian with a helpless expression. “They will make sure you look the part. And don’t worry, they won’t say a word.”

There was a dressing screen in the back of the room that had more patterns carved into the dark wood. In front hung her gown. Her lips parted as she ran her fingers across the lacey thing. She smiled as she noted the tight pants hidden beneath the skirts. It would make fighting easier, if she had to. She grimaced as she thought of blood spilling on the elegant skirts. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

The servants pulled her aside to a large basin filled with steaming hot water. They scrubbed the dirt and sweat from her skin, and stripped away any lingering tavern smell. Her hair looked glossy by the time they finished, and they wove a black, braided band that looked like it was made of her own hair around the crown of her head. They painted her face with makeup and began dressing her. The fabric was tight against her skin, the corset digging into her ribs, and slid her feet into powerful heels. The ebony skirts swayed beneath her, hiding the tight leggings. The servants pulled her in front of the mirror and her eyes widened.

She looked so different.

Dark, kohl-covered eyes that made the blue of her eyes more vibrant, and she had perfectly rosy lips and cheeks. Her skin was flawless – even her scar had been perfectly covered. Her slender neck was bare and made way for her plunging neckline. She looked as though she could kill a man with a single glance.

“Do you like it?” one of the elves said quietly.

She turned to them, her mouth spread into a wide grin. “I _love_ it.”

The elves brightened at that, inclining their heads in unison. “We are glad of what you are doing, Mistress Hawke,” the small elf said in a near whisper.

The other two elves eyed Marian cautiously. She took the elven girl’s hand. “I could save three more, if you asked it,” she said in a soft voice.

The first elf shook her head. “We are treated well in this household. It is our home.”

“But the Magister Danarius does not treat his slaves well,” the small elf said. “If you can save the rest of them… any of them…” she dissolved into small sobs.

Marian held her breath, her heart pounding. She’d come to Tevinter to save Fenris, and yet…

She couldn’t even bear the thought of the injustice that was prevalent in this country. Elves seen as no more than chattel to be abused on a whim, with no way to support themselves or make a life without selling themselves… she squeezed the elf’s hand. “We will find a way. Somehow.”

There was a soft knock at the door.

“Oh, quickly,” the second elf chimed, grabbing something from a small table beside the dressing screen. She pulled something black around Marian’s eyes. A mask, made of black lace. The elf fastened it tightly and the first elf went to open the door.

“Oh good, you’re ready,” Anders said as he walked through the door, fixing the sleeve of his formal robes. “I was going to ask if you would mind…” He stopped as his eyes fixed on her. “You look…”

She raised an eyebrow. “Like a Tevinter noble, I know. It’s strange.”

He coughed into his fist and straightened his jacket. His outfit made him look like he could fit in Tevinter as well. His hair had been pulled out of its usual ponytail, and was well scrubbed and brushed. He, too, wore a black mask over his eyes, making his eyes look more gold than amber. Anders smirked at her. “They did well. We definitely look the part. Are you ready to go? Dorian has already left to bring the others to the servant’s quarters.”

“I am.” She turned to the elves, looking them each in the eye. “Thank you for everything.”

They bowed and she crossed the room to take the arm that Anders was now offering to her.

***

Fenris fastened the remaining clip on Danarius’ robe, keeping his head down as much as possible. His master said nothing as Fenris brushed off all the specks on his shoulders. He knew how pristine Danarius wished to be. When he was finished, he bowed lower and backed away.

“Now, Fenris,” his master said, “tonight, I want you to be an intimidating presence. Stand tall and acknowledge no one. You will be there solely as my guardian, so we will give you a sword. Keep in mind, however, that should you use the sword for anything other than to protect me, I have wards placed on it that will burn the metal should I wish to activate it.”

“I will do as you command, Master,” Fenris said.

“Very good,” Danarius said, smiling. “Everything will be perfect tonight. Every Magister will be there, and I will need to convince several of them to support me in the legal matter I will presenting a week from now. With their support I can have Magister Pavus removed from his position – and will carefully plant Hadriana in his place.”

“I will not fail you, Master,” Fenris replied.

“I know you won’t, little wolf,” he said with a cruel smile. “Come, we are already late as it is.”

He followed his master down to the carriage that was waiting outside. He moved to sit in the back of the carriage.

“No, Fenris,” Danarius said. “You will sit up here with me.”

Fenris complied silently, helping his master into the carriage, and followed. The elf glanced outside the carriage window. Moonlight covered the courtyard and reflected against the tall windows of the mansion. The carriage lurched forward, and they were off. Fenris wondered where Hadriana was, but knew better than to question his master about it. Perhaps she would be absent so she wouldn’t seem as close to Danarius.

He could feel Danarius’ eyes on him as the carriage flew down the road to the Pavus mansion. He dared not look his master in the eyes, but he looked up slightly from beneath his hair. His master was smiling fondly at him, and he dropped his glance to the floor of the carriage.  

“I cannot tell if you are becoming fond of me, or simply better at your job,” his master said suddenly. “Wishful thinking hopes for the former, but no magic can change you _that_ much.”

“Perhaps you are more powerful than you realize,” Fenris said softly.

Danarius relaxed at that. “Perhaps. Magic is strange, on occasion, and yields better results than were planned.”

“I hope I please you, Master.”

“You do, little wolf,” Danarius said, leaning forward to touch the elf’s knee. “You do.”  

***

“Are you nervous?” Anders asked as they walked through the gardens around the estate. They needed to get around to the front if they were to avoid any suspicions from the other nobles.

“Am I nervous? I’m stepping into a den of vipers and may not return alive. This is my usual day-to-day routine,” she said with a wink.

He smirked. “Of course, how could I forget?”

“Perhaps you’re getting too old for all this adventuring.”

“Ha! As if you would go off without me.”

“I will if you turn senile on me. Can’t let Justice run rampant around Kirkwall.”

He chuckled softly and looked off at some of the vines curling down the side of a wall beside them. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that.”

They managed to curl around the wall and approach the line of nobles that were funneling through the main gates. The estate looked majestic with mage lights dancing around the garden and spewing water of the fountains glistening in the moonlight. The other nobles didn’t seem to take note of them as they walked up to the daunting iron gates. Hawke clung tightly to her friend, her nerves beginning to well up within her. She could take down a giant spider or a wrath demon any day. But nobles who played mind games? This was another game altogether.

“Ah, there you are!” Dorian said exuberantly as Hawke and Anders approached the main gate. The altus was followed by a dark-haired woman with deep brown eyes and red lips. She was wearing a modest gown that cascaded down her curves, and was covered in blood red jewels. Her teeth gleamed as she smiled at the pair. “This is Livia, an old friend of mine. She’s a genius with healing magic and an excellent painter. Livia, meet Marian Amell and husband, Anders Amell.”

Marian bit back a snicker as she smiled at the woman. It was a believable cover story to outsiders, she supposed. Dorian had explained that since the Amells were a prominent noble family of the south, it would explain their accents without raising suspicions as to why they were invited – and pretending to be married would reduce the idea of impropriety. Hawke just needed to play the part of an Amell. _Not too difficult, I suppose._ She curtsied deeply, as Dorian had taught her the night before. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she said, keeping her voice soft.

“The pleasure is mine, I’m sure,” Livia said, curtsying in return. “I have heard of the Amells. Are you not related to the Hero of Ferelden?”

“A distant relation, but yes,” Marian said. Solona Amell was her aunt, but alluding to that would draw too many conclusions about being the Champion of Kirkwall. Not to mention she’d never actually _met_ the woman.

“How delightful to have such a powerful mage in the family,” Livia gushed.

“It is an honor to be related to her,” Marian said. Not untrue.  

“And you are a lucky man,” she said, turning to Anders. “She is very lovely.”

Anders blushed. “Very lucky, indeed.”

“Well, now that we have all been introduced, let us make our way inside,” Dorian said, offering his arm to Livia. The four made their way through the gates and across the main courtyard. Hawke’s cheeks reddened as they passed by all the nobles, who glanced at her with intense scrutiny. An intimidation tactic, no doubt. But she couldn’t think about that. She just needed to find Danarius and distract him long enough to separate him from Fenris. That’s where Tallis came in. She was posing as one of the waitstaff, and could take Fenris far from his master. She was to take Fenris down to the servants quarters, where Isabela and Merrill were waiting. Varric was waiting outside the servants quarters to make sure they were cleared for the escape – likely out of sight. Hawke had played through the plan over and over in her head – a mantra to keep herself from going insane. This plan would work. _This plan will definitely work._

They passed over the threshold of the Pavus mansion and up the marble staircase to the main hall. There were more portraits of Pavus family members and various paintings hanging above elegant statues that emulated the vicious and beautiful nature of the Tevinter Imperium. The ceiling arched overhead with gold trim, making way for the dark wooden doors at the end of the hall, inlaid with golden serpents.

The ballroom was magnificent. Serpents and golden branches decorated the dark walls and ceiling, with vines spiraling up the pillars towering above them. There were musicians on the opposite end of the room strumming a gentle, dark tune. Many nobles were mingling with one another, quietly laughing amongst themselves. Burning glances were tossed at Dorian as they passed, followed by a look of curiosity at Hawke and Anders. She hoped they didn’t stand out as much as she felt they did. As Dorian found them a cozy corner away from most of the crowd, Hawke realized that she had been holding her breath. Anders looked down at her, concern filling his golden eyes, and she gave him a small smile. _I’m okay._

Her eyes scanned the crowd, darting around to find a patch of white hair in a sea of black clothing. It would be easy to spot him in this crowd. _One would hope, at least._ But she didn’t see anything. She felt a sinking feeling in her chest.

_What if he doesn’t come at all?_

That brought all of her nervousness back. She wanted to find Tallis as soon as possible. Tallis could easily move through the crowds and find him. Or at least find Danarius. Then she could pull out everything in her arsenal. She’d gone over what to say with Dorian. The exact wording needed to be perfect or Danarius would see through her. She pressed her lips together, trying desperately not to bite her lip and ruin her makeup.

Anders squeezed her arm. “It’s going to be fine,” he said quietly.

“So, Dorian tells me that you are a healer as well,” Livia said to Anders.

“Yes,” Anders said without missing a beat, “I have my own practice down south.”

“Is it with the Circle, then? I know how strict they are with magic.”

“Indeed. The Circle has given me much of the teaching and resources I need to maintain my practice,” he said. Marian kept her expression blank as she looked at him. _He’s not even flinching._

“I see. But aren’t there a great number of limitations to what you can do?”

“Of course, but those are safety precautions to reduce accidents and malpractice.” He flashed her a smile. His arm was tightening around hers - the only sign of the rebel mage that lay beneath. “But enough about me. I would love to hear more about you. Do you have your own practice?”

“In a sense, yes,” she said. Marian drowned out their conversation. She needed to focus on finding Fenris. She scanned the crowd again, until she saw a redheaded elf meandering through the room. Pressing her lips together, she wondered how she could get the elf’s attention. She turned to the other three.

“Excuse me for a moment? I would like to get refreshments.”

They nodded to her and she left Anders’ side. Her arm was instantly cold, and a shiver ran down her bare spine. She just needed to get to Tallis. _Everything will be okay._

She was halfway to the redhead when she slammed into a tall body covered in dark satin. Arms reached out to steady her. Fighting every impulse to call out the man for not watching where he was going, she bit her tongue and fell into a polite curtsy.

“My apologies,” she said quickly.

“No, my lady, I should be the one to apologize. I was not looking where I was going.”

She looked up at the man. He had greying hair above his dead, grey eyes, and a sharply-cut beard. His skin was faintly wrinkled, and he wore long, dark mages robes. He gave her a smile as he inclined his head.

“It’s alright,” she said. Something about this man was cruel – but was not worn as armor like the other people of the Imperium she’d met. Her skin felt clammy.

“Have a good evening,” he said, turning to walk away.

Following behind him closely, was a white-haired elf.

 _Fenris._   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends -  
> I realize I haven't written in a while but I promise I have not forgotten. I hit a big snag in my life and am working through things. Writing is usually an escape for me but this year is a little different. However, I'm getting back into writing (as of 1/11/18) so it should be along soon. 
> 
> Hopefully this writer's block will get fixed, too. But we are getting there! 
> 
> Love, 
> 
> oxygenforthewicked


	33. The Great Game: Part Two

Marian stared at Fenris, her lips parted. She knew she had to move away, get out of there… _something._ The longer she stood, the more attention she would draw to herself. The man she had crashed into – Danarius – stopped to turn back to his slave. Her head began to spin even more. The plan wasn’t ready to be set in motion, and yet she could not find the will to walk away. Fenris’ head was bowed slightly, as was the etiquette of slaves. He was wearing a plain black tunic paired with black leggings and foot wraps that didn’t cover the soles of his feet, with a large blade strapped to his back. The tunic had short sleeves that showed off the lyrium tattoos that trailed down his brown skin. He glanced upward. They locked eyes and for a moment, she forgot herself. She wanted to pull him inter her arms, kiss him, tell him it was all going to be okay. _Fenris, I’ve come to save you._

“He is marvelous, is he not?” Danarius interjected, snapping her back to reality. He did not seem to like the way she was looking at the elf.  

“Y-yes,” she stammered. A cool calm fell over her and she straightened. This was for Fenris. One wrong move could mean death for them all. “I’m sorry, I’ve just never seen such strange markings before.”

“Ah, yes. They are made from pure lyrium.”

“Lyrium markings?” she said with perfect awe. “I’m afraid I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Yes, it is a rather new concept,” he said, stroking Fenris’ arm. Hawke tensed. “A concept that nearly cost me a perfectly good slave. It was a miracle that Fenris survived.” She watched as the magister’s eyes trailed down Fenris’ body. Her stomach churned. Danarius folded his arms behind his back. “I apologize if he frightened you.”

“It’s alright, it simply caught me off-guard,” she said, smiling brightly at the magister. _I’m going to tear you apart, limb from limb._ “I apologize again for disturbing your night,” she said, bowing lower now.

“What was your name again?” the magister said.

Hawke lifted her chin and met his eyes, careful not to let the anger brewing from beneath her skin shine through too much. But the magister’s eyes widened as she took a step toward him, crossing her arms behind her back. “Lady Amell,” she said. “I’m a friend of Dorian Pavus.”

“Danarius,” he said simply. “Magister in the Imperial Senate.”

She smiled, lips tightly pressed together. “It has been a pleasure, but I must return to my escort.”

“Have a good rest of your evening, my lady,” Danarius said, turning his heel. Fenris followed behind him without even a glance back at her. _Strange,_ she thought. 

Hawke continued on to the table of refreshments and picked up two dainty goblets of wine and started back to the corner with the others. The dark liquid sloshed inside the small goblet. Seeing Danarius made all of this far more real – and terrifying. He was practically bathed in an aura of cruelty. Hawke didn’t even want to imagine the sorts of things a man like him got away with.

As she neared the corner again, she saw a small elven woman standing beside Dorian, whispering something in his ear. He thanked her and the woman bowed before scurrying away, and shared a look with Livia. _I hope nothing is wrong._

She reached the group and took her place beside Anders again. She downed one of the glasses of wine as though it were a shot, and the second followed shortly after. Three pairs of eyes stared at her. Their calm expressions kept her anxiety at bay. _Everything is fine._ “Crowds get to me,” she said with a smile.

Anders raised an eyebrow but seemed to let it go. Dorian smiled. “That is understandable. I was just telling these two that we should all go out to the balcony. The stars must look absolutely marvelous tonight.” _Perhaps something_ is _wrong._

“You all go on ahead without me,” Livia said. “There are a few friends I wish to speak with before the wine truly sets in.” Dorian gave her a tight smile and waved as she set off into the sea of people.

“Follow me,” Dorian said simply. Hawke and Anders followed the man past throngs of darkly-clad people, most wearing masks as well. _Danarius wasn’t wearing a mask_ , Hawke thought suddenly. But every other person here was wearing a mask… why hadn’t he been wearing one? Perhaps it was nothing. She focused following Dorian, eager to be outside and away from it all.

They reached the doors to the balcony that had been flung open, and her shoulders relaxed as she stepped out into the cool night air. The balcony encircled the mansion, and Dorian led them around a corner away from any curious ears.

“So I see you finally met Danarius,” Dorian said, turning to face Hawke.

“Yes,” she said simply.

“It would have been better to avoid him to try not to raise suspicions, but that can’t be helped now.”

Hawke straightened. “No, but now that people have seen us talking, no one will question it. He may not even question it when I finally approach him.”

“That is what I brought you out here to talk about. There has been a slight change of plan,” he said, his perfect brows furrowing. 

“What do you mean?”

“Tallis and I spoke beforehand and she mentioned her former master. I assured her that he had not been invited, and therefore would not be attending. However, I have just been informed that my father invited the man earlier this evening. The man is here, and recognized Tallis immediately.”

“Shit,” Hawke breathed. “Where is Tallis now?”

“She’s been taken, and likely will be held in the slave quarters until the festivities have concluded.”

“We have to do something,” she said, her fists clenched at her sides.

“We can certainly try. In the meantime, we need to continue with the plan. But I will have Livia tracking down Tallis. You will take Tallis’ place and get Fenris to the others.”

“I can do that.” But she would still need to deal with Danarius, while getting Fenris out at the same time. She bit her lip. 

Dorian rubbed his neck. “This is going to be incredibly tedious. If it goes wrong… well, let’s just say I’m glad I have the Champion of Kirkwall on my side,” he chuckled nervously.

“No pressure,” Hawke said with a smirk.

“None at all.”

“So what will you be doing?”

“Distracting my father,” Dorian said. “It won’t be pleasant. It never is. But if he is to be kept from our operation he will need to be worried about something else entirely. And I know just how to keep him oblivious. Afterwards I will be joining Livia in hopes we can get you all out alive. Wish me luck?” With that, he left the balcony and disappeared into the crowd.

“Good luck,” Hawke whispered. She wasn’t sure if it was to him, or herself. She took a deep breath and returned to the ballroom. She had made it halfway through the crowd when a hand suddenly grabbed her shoulder. She jumped and turned to see a masked Anders.

“There you are,” he said, taking her arm. “I was worried you had gotten lost in the crowd.”

He was leading her out of the crowd when he leaned down and dropped his voice to a whisper. “What’s the plan now?”

“He told you?” she said, dropping her voice as well.

“Yes, but I’m not sure what your plan is. Tallis had the advantage of her disguise.”

Hawke sighed. “I’m aware. All I need is for the two of them to be separated long enough for me to get him out, but he won’t even take his eyes off of Fenris for a second.”

They looked out to see Danarius in the center of the ballroom with Fenris at his side. Fenris was always at least in his peripheral vision. _This is a mess._

“What if we can get him to close his eyes?” Anders said.

“What are you getting at? We just _ask_ him to close his eyes?”

“No, no. I mean we get him out if this room. All we would need to do is distract him long enough that he doesn’t notice that Fenris is gone. And won’t be inclined to follow us.”

“What, knock him out or something?”

Anders shrugged. “Seems like our best chance.”

“He’ll have to have his guard down.”

“We can manage that, I think.”

She looked up at him. “You hate Fenris. Why are you helping this much?”

His eyes met hers, growing intense. “I’m not doing this for Fenris.”

Hawke blinked and turned away. This was not the time. “Let’s do this, then. We just need to get him out of the ballroom.”

“Agreed. First, I think I’d like to grab two more glasses of wine.”

***

The glass crashed onto the floor.

“Oh no!” Hawke exclaimed, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe the wine from Danarius’s robes. The magister was glowering down at his ruined robes. He took a deep breath and turned to Hawke. His face relaxed.

“Lady Amell,” he said with a serene smile. “Don’t worry, nothing a little magic can’t clean up.” He snapped his fingers, the wine vanishing from his robes, leaving them looking brand-new.

Hawke giggled. She felt ridiculous. “I’m glad I have not ruined your evening.”

“Of course not. It is made brighter by your presence. However, since you have bumped into me for the second time tonight, it is only fair that we get to know each other better.”

“Indeed,” she said with a coy smile. She wanted to vomit. To her dismay, an elegant song began to play, and Danarius offered his hand.

“Care to dance, my lady?”

She giggled into her hand. “Of course, my lord.”

He twirled her into a waltz, firmly grasping her hand and waist. Her skin began to crawl. She did not drink enough wine for this.

“Are you enjoying the ball?” he asked as they stepped in time with the rhythm.

“Oh, yes,” Hawke said, spreading her lips into a dazzling smile. “I’ve only been to a few balls in my lifetime, in Orlais. Tevinter balls are incomparable.”

“That they are. The Orlesian Empire tries so hard to match the sophistication of the Imperium, but it lacks the necessary… bloodlust required to reach such a height.”

Hawke raised her eyebrows. “Bloodlust, you say?”

“Indeed. You will find that our ambitious nature leads us down more _powerful_ paths.”

He twirled her around and brought her back. Even the stench of him made her want to vomit. But she couldn’t help but feel that his words were almost a direct threat.

“And the use of more dangerous magic?”

“All magic is dangerous. It is simply how you use it. You must be more powerful than the weapon you wield.”

Her teeth clenched behind closed lips. “And yet, even the mightiest warrior may be cut by their own blade.”

His eyebrows raised. “If the warrior does not exercise caution and wear armor, of course.”

“Even with the greatest armor, it has its weaknesses.”

Time for her own direct threat.

He chuckled. “Even with armor, you must be ready to evade all enemies. But we speak of magic, which is not as simplistic as a mere blade.”

“Perhaps it is not a blade, but it will always be treated as one.”

He spun her around again as the music ended. They bowed to one another. When Danarius rose, he was smiling. “You are a fascinating woman, Lady Amell. Join me?” He held out his arm again. “Come, Fenris,” he said to the elf, who was waiting on the sidelines.

Hawke dared not look at him as Danarius led her out of the ballroom and down the gilded hallway. She didn’t know where Anders was, but she trusted him to follow. She hoped.

“So tell me. Who taught you magic?” he said as he led her into the gardens.

“My uncle,” she said. “My mother and father refused to send me to a Circle in the south, so they had him teach me.”

“And he, too, evaded the southern templars?”

“Only by the skin of his neck,” Hawke chuckled. “But yes. We managed to keep it a secret. But I am growing tired of hiding.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding his head. “So you have come to the Imperium.”

“And so I have come to the Imperium,” she repeated, folding her hands neatly in front of her as they strolled through the garden. Dozens of rose bushes with blood red flowers gleamed with dew in the pale moonlight. Statues of Tevinter mages lined the walkway, and at the center was a large fountain that shone elegantly with mage lights dancing around it.

“Do you plan to stay here?” he said folding his hands behind him.

“Perhaps,” she said, her eyes locking onto his. “It is rather exhilarating being revered rather than feared.”

“And yet,” he said, moving his gaze to the fountain. “Being feared and revered are sometimes one in the same.”

Hawke looked off to the mansion, worry filling her. _Where is Anders?_ She glanced for a second at Fenris, who was crouched down, his eyes aimed at the ground. Fury rose in her.

“Is it required to own slaves here?” she asked simply, turning back to the magister.

“No, though it does make life much easier. For us, and for the slaves. Without us, they would be starving on the streets. We offer them a free home, food, clothing. In return, they live out their days in service to those who can actually change the world for better. Besides, elves, in particular, are completely useless to society as it is. This is where they belong. It’s just simply in their nature.”

Hawke crossed her arms, flames threatening to break through her skin. She looked around the garden. Ahead of them was a long archway made of ivy. _Completely out of view of the mansion._

She turned and smiled at Danarius before taking off in a small jog to the archway, giggling as she went. Slowing as she entered, she folded her arms behind her back, raising her head to look at the flowers intertwined with the ivy.

“These are magically held there, without needing water or tending,” Danarius said behind her. He had followed. “Permanently perfect.”

“How beautiful,” she said softly. She turned to face Danarius, who was standing a little too close for comfort. Out of the corner of her eye, behind the magister and Fenris, she saw Anders step out from the brush. He stepped toward them and flung a ball of light at the magister. Danarius dodged the hit, and turned to face Anders. He snarled and whipped around to grab Hawke, holding a knife to her throat.

“Fenris! Attack him!”

Fenris turned, his tattoos lighting up fiercely as he took the blade from his back and swung it at Anders. Anders fade-stepped away toward Hawke, landing behind Danarius. Danarius shoved Hawke toward Fenris, readying his staff to face Anders. Hawke stared, dumbfounded, as Anders drew his staff and held it defensively in front of him.

“Go!” yelled Anders as he dodged the fire that was now being hurled at him.

Hawke swallowed hard. She couldn’t just leave him there with…

“ _Go now!_ ” Anders shouted again.

She whipped around and grabbed Fenris’ hand, pulling him down another archway that led to another section of the garden.

“Do you know where the slave quarters are?” she asked as they ran.

Fenris stopped dead, yanking her back.

“Fenris?” she said, frowning. His eyes were different.

“You are going the wrong way,” Fenris said, his voice flat. “We must go back.”

“We have to get you out of here,” she said.

He stood in place.

“What’s wrong with you?” Hawke said.

“We must return to my master.”

 _No._ Hawke’s jaw locked. They didn’t have time for this. “I’m sorry, Fenris.”

She threw a knockout spell. The spell glowed green, and Fenris’s eyes rolled back into his head as he began to collapse. She ripped the skirt from her dress, revealing her ornate leggings. Hawke shoved his sword into the bushes and pulled him onto her back. Despite being taller, he was strangely light. _He’s starving,_ she thought miserably. She ran through the gardens until she reached a stairwell down to what looked to be a cellar. Rushing downward, she opened the door.

The cellar was dark. She conjured flames in her palm. There were rows and rows of barrels of wine. They were safe. For now.

Hawke lowered Fenris to the ground. Anders had just taught her both the knockout spell and the counterspell several minutes prior to joining Danarius. She wasn’t sure she’d even get this right, though she’d gotten the knockout part right. She sighed and raised her hands to his head, magic pulsing from her fingertips.

Nothing happened.

She panicked for a moment. _What if I did it too well?_ She held her hands steady, biting her lip.

Fenris suddenly gasped and sat forward, coughing. He sat there breathing for a moment before he looked up at her from under his silver hair.

“What are you doing?” he growled.

“Fenris, it’s me,” Hawke said, pulling off her mask. “We’re here to save you.”

“Is this another trick?” he sneered. “Another way for him to test my loyalty?”

“No, Fenris,” she said, tears rising in her eyes. “It really is me.”

From far away, they heard a door open, voices flooding through distant hallways.

“We have to go,” Hawke said, taking his hand.

This time, he followed.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... the next chapter is written out but I have to make some changes and whatnot. But it's coming!
> 
> SO SORRY FOR THE EXCESSIVELY LONG WAIT. I HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN. 
> 
> <3 <3 <3


	34. A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

Taelan crouched on the edge of the roof of the Pavus mansion, his hood drawn over his face. He watched as nobles drunkenly staggered around the gardens and the balconies, their boisterous laughter making his skin crawl. His eyes traveled across the gardens until his eye caught three figures slowly making their way from the ballroom. A flash of silver hair glinted in the moonlight. _Fenris._ Danarius was with him, of course, and they were joined by… _Hawke?_ His brows furrowed.

_This wasn’t the plan._

He watched as the two humans talked, Hawke almost seeming like she was trying to capture his attention. His eyes scanned the garden, looking for anyone who might be lurking in the shadows. He saw a flash of golden hair sneaking behind the bushes. _There._ The plan had been altered. _Where is Tallis? She said she was going to be the one to separate Fenris from the crowd._ Hawke began to lead Danarius under the cover of the ivy archways. _Hawke’s going to try to take him out. Danarius can’t_ seriously _be falling for that._ Suddenly, the golden-haired human was jumping from the bushes and fade-stepping into the archways and out of view. He leaned forward, his frown deepening. Suddenly, Hawke and Fenris were running out of the archway and through another set of archways close by. _That’s my cue._

He pulled the cloth around his neck over his nose and mouth, and silently swung himself down to the landing just below the roof, landing with grace as he jumped down further until he landed inside the gardens. He pulled out his two short swords as he entered the archway to see the two humans fighting. The golden-haired man looked at him, and his eyes widened as he jumped back a few feet, preparing to defend himself from both of them. Taelan smirked beneath the cloth, as Danarius hadn’t noticed him yet. He bent slightly and sliced through the air, cutting the back of the magister’s legs. He cried out in pain. The golden-haired mage paused, a frown growing on his face. Danarius turned to face Taelan, his eyes wide with fear. Taelan swung around, stabbing in the direction of his former master. Danarius blocked with his staff, only to receive a blast of ice in his face, freeing him for a moment. He fell back, his teeth clenched as he glared at Taelan. He ripped a dagger from his waist and cut the back of his forearm. He pulled the blood from his body, his eyes flashing with fire as a red aura grew from him. The magister whipped his head toward the golden-haired mage and he threw a large blast of fire, throwing him back ten feet. He faced Taelan and readied himself.

In a flurry of blades, Taelan struck his former master, and the steel turning crimson. Danarius cried out, reaching his hand toward the elf, grabbing his hood with a firm grip and pulling it down as he cast another spell. Searing pain rippled through Taelan’s body, holding him still as the magister gripped the back of his head and pulled down his face mask. His bloodied face spread into a wicked grin.

“My dearest Taelan,” he breathed. “Come back for me. Too bad you couldn’t save him before I broke into his mind. You and that Ferelden bitch seek nothing but an empty shell.”

His grip tightened, and the pain grew until Taelan could barely hold back a whimper.

“However,” Danarius continued, “I think that in time you will learn to thank me. Fenris was not meant for freedom. No matter what he does, or where he goes, he will always find someone to follow, someone to protect, someone who he will dedicate his entire life to. Elves are natural-born servants – designed by the Maker himself to bend their will to a master. Fenris knows his place. But I doubt you will ever learn yours.”

Taelan bared his teeth. With what little movement he had left under the paralysis spell, he turned his head to the magister’s wrist and bit. Hard. Danarius let go instantly, jumping back. As he jumped, Taelan was released from his paralysis, and he stabbed forward, the blade plunging through Danarius’s stomach. The magister cried out, falling back into the archway. As he clutched the wall beside him, his skin began to flicker. From beside them, the golden-hair mage stood up and watched as the magister bled onto the ground. Taelan blinked, and the flickering across his skin grew until it looked as though ashes were falling away from his body. As they fell, they revealed another’s flesh entirely – that of a younger man with dark hair and brown eyes. Taelan stepped back. _Fuck._

“Carver!” the mage shouted rushing to the young man’s side. He pulled Carver toward him, pressing against his back as blue magic shot from his fingers.

Taelan couldn’t move. _How did he…?_

The golden-hair mage shot a look at him. “Go get help. Now!” he ordered, before looking back down at Carver. “Stay with me, Carver. You have to hold on.”

Taelan clenched his teeth and sheathed his short swords before breaking into a sprint through the tunnel. Wherever Danarius was, whatever his plan was, there was only one thing that Taelan knew for certain. Danarius was already several steps ahead.

***

Anders pressed his magic into Carver’s broken body, his teeth clenched. _You cannot die now._ The magic was sealing the wound, but not fast enough. Anders wished he had brought more lyrium potions. Questions swam furiously in the back of his mind. Even if Danarius had managed to use an illusionary spell powerful enough to not only make Carver appear like another person but also appear to use magic, it still would take a lot more for him to get Carver to do and say all the things he did.

 _What has he done to you?_  

A deep voice circled the back of his mind. _You must not use all of your power now,_ Justice boomed. _It will be needed later._ He was looking to take control again, forcing his way to the surface. Anders knew he was just trying to protect his fading body, but he had to keep going.

Color rose to Carver’s cheeks slowly, as the wound healed. Anders felt like he couldn’t give any more magic, but he pushed further until his vision began to fade. _I can’t stop. No matter what, he must live._ “Carver, you have to –” he said, his hands shaking as the magic continued to pour, even as it waned. Pain surged through his veins, and he could feel Justice rising further through his bones, a soft glow of blue surging from his skin.

Carver’s eyes opened, and he looked blankly at Anders. The mage couldn’t read his expression but was relieved to see his friend healed. Darkness welled in his vision as Carver began to stand.

Suddenly, everything faded to black.   

***

Tallis leaned against the prison cell wall, her arms crossed as she stared at the door. Water dripped from the other side of the dungeon, the splash echoing against the stone walls. The side of her face throbbed slightly, from where her former master had struck her. She was surprised he hadn’t ordered the guards to kill her right then and there.

Her ears twitched. She swore she could hear the yelp of a man from the room above, followed by two large _thuds_ on the ground. Everything went quiet until she heard the dungeon door creak open. _Footsteps._ She could her lithe feet padding down the staircase. _Is that?_

Taelan appeared before her, covered in blood, anger seeming to ripple across his skin. He unlocked the door unceremoniously.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he said, motioning for her to follow.

She nodded and followed silently behind him. He walked over to the other side of the dungeon, where there was a small hatch that led underground.

“Danarius knows we’re here,” Taelan said. “I tried to take him out with one of Hawke’s companions, but it turned out to be an illusion. He’s been on to us this entire time. We have to warn the others.”  

Tallis huffed. “We _need_ to stick to the plan. Fenris is the priority, yes, but that is not the only reason we are here.”

“I know that,” Taelan snapped. “We’ll get the others out, and get them on a ship to Seheron before the night is through.”

“Good,” Tallis whispered.

***

“Hurry,” Hawke said, her hand wrapped around Fenris’ wrist. They were making their way through the tunnels beneath the mansion that led to several different wine cellars and other storage rooms. _It’s like a damn maze._ She had to get to Livia and Dorian. Her mind was spinning. Fenris looked like he’d been hollowed out. She clenched her teeth. Danarius would pay for this. Once Fenris was safe again – he would pay.

The corridor around them was dimly lit, but Tallis had thoroughly mapped the entire place. If she was correct, she would be able to turn around the next corner and then…

They both stopped dead in their tracks.

Danarius stood before them, a wicked grin spreading across his face. Behind him were two armed guards, swords at the ready.  

“How?” Hawke breathed. _And what has he done with Anders?_

Danarius laughed. “You don’t truly believe that was me, do you? I am not foolish enough to leave myself so vulnerable. You, on the other hand, _are_ that foolish.”

Hawke’s jaw locked. Danarius smiled and folded his arms behind his back. “I don’t blame you, however. Fenris is a valuable asset in any sense whether it is for protection or… personal reasons.”

Hawke stepped in front of Fenris and crossed her arms. “He is not an _asset._ He is not your property. Not anymore.”  

He chuckled as he rubbed his chin. “But you forget that we are in the Imperium. Here, he is still mine by law. And to take him, well. That would make you a thief.”

Hawke’s eyes narrowed. “Not if you are dead.”

He looked at her surreptitiously. “A bold threat to be making when I have you surrounded.”

Hawke clenched her teeth and her grip tightened around her staff. “Enough stalling. You will not be taking him tonight.”

Danarius raised his eyebrows. “My, you are protective. I can see why he likes you though.” He looked down to adjust his sleeves. “But your efforts will be in vain. Fenris will not be going with you tonight. Or ever, for that matter. You see, I have been made aware of your little secret.”

Fenris stepped beside her. “What do you mean, master?”

Hawke couldn’t breathe. Danarius needed to die, and soon. She started casting a spell when suddenly her arms were pulled forcefully behind her back, the pain ripping through her body.

“She didn’t tell you?” Danarius laughed. “Oh, dear. Keeping secrets is never good for a healthy, functioning relationship. She has been lying to you this entire time. She was never truly out for your freedom, only her personal gain.”

Fenris’ markings lit up as he growled fiercely, readying himself to lunge at the magister.

“Carver?” the magister called behind him.

Hawke stilled.

Fenris’ markings dulled and suddenly he cried out in pain. Suddenly, that same pain was extended to her – nulling any spell she may have conjured in that moment to silence Danarius forever. An armored figure stepped out of the shadows, and Marian felt her heart shatter.

It was Carver – and wasn’t. He was a shell of a human being, and he obeyed Danarius without a second thought. He didn’t even look up at her. He grabbed Hawke roughly and yanked her upward.

Danarius folded his arms behind his back and slowly began to pace. “A long time ago, before you had your markings, you were owned by Magister Verres along with your mother and sister in Denerim. You were a promising slave, but Verres was too soft – allowing you some small semblance of a childhood and turning the other way when you made a human friend. And, as it appears, that same human who fell for you all those years ago has since only sought to reclaim you.” The magister’s eyes flashed up to her. “Verres mentioned that you might eventually become a problem. It seems he was correct in his assumption.”

Hawke looked up at Fenris, but his eyes didn’t meet hers.

“No,” Marian said, her voice breaking. “I sought to keep him _free_.”

“And yet you kept the information of his mother and sister from him,” he spat. “Is that truly keeping him free? Or were you going to use it to later strengthen his loyalty after killing me?”

Hot tears pooled in her eyes, but she kept her glare fixed on the magister.

“You see, Fenris,” Danarius said. “I will not keep you hidden from the truth. Why would you desire to be free of safety and comfort? Why would you desire to live a lie with someone who only puts themselves first?” His gaze was on Fenris, watching as the elf stared at the ground. His brows furrowed, a deeply-seated anger growing within him.

“You are right, Master.”

Fenris looked at her then, his eyes burning with hate. Marian’s teeth clenched. She would save him – no matter what – but only if he wished it. He would not trust her again, not after this, but she could not see him enslaved and abused. And Carver… _Oh Maker, Carver._ She would rather be dead than see him enslaved to Danarius, too.

“What would you have me do with her?” the elf said.

Hawke’s nails dug into the palms of her hands. The paralysis spell was fading.

“Kill her if you would be so kind,” Danarius said, a smile clearly lingering on his lips. “And then we will do the same with her companions.”  

Fenris started toward her. Her limbs were screaming to be released. She looked Fenris in the eyes as he grabbed her by the neck. He shoved her against the stone wall beside them, her bones singing with pain. Fury burned in his eyes – and it was as if he’d killed her already. His tattoos began to glow, and the light ignited the vivid emerald in his eyes. He was beautiful, as he had always been. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to fight, but she couldn’t bring herself to conjure the spell, even as her paralysis faded. She could not hurt him.

“Fenris,” she gasped beneath his grip.

“You dare try to speak to me? After all the lies? My master is right. You are a manipulative snake, and if you had any respect for me, you would have the decency to fight me,” Fenris barked at her. “Or are you still so _cowardly?_ ”

Her eyes searched his, trying to find something – anything – to hold on to. But she found nothing but hate. She was the enemy now. It felt like she was being ripped apart a thousand different ways. She could hear nothing but her own breaths, and her pounding heart. He was going to kill her, and she didn’t know if she had the strength to defend herself. Danarius had taken him and destroyed his mind. _I’m sorry, Fenris. I was too late._

“No,” she choked out. “I won’t.”

He bared his teeth and gripped her neck tighter. “ _Fight back._ ”

“Finish her, Fenris,” Danarius said, clearly bored.

“I love you,” she whimpered beneath his grip. She closed her eyes, hoping that some shred of kindness in him would at least have the decency to kill her quickly.

“And I you,” he snarled under his breath. “ _Now fight back.”_

She blinked, and his grip around her neck disappeared. The world seemed to be moving slowly around her. Danarius’ eyes widened as he watched Fenris move. She sucked in a deep breath and watched as he whipped around and thrust his hands deep into the chests of the guards, ripping their hearts out in one fell swoop.  

He had been pretending. He had every detail right, down to how he spoke to her without revealing a thing.

“Oh, I am going to _kill_ you,” she growled, leaping to her feet.

“ _Carver!”_ Danarius shouted.

Carver lunged forward and Hawke grabbed her staff quickly, stepping in front of Fenris and casting a spell that launched her brother across the corridor. Danarius rolled his eyes and twirled his staff, sending force magic at them, knocking them back several feet. Hawke stood up immediately and shot blue fire at the magister. Several guards appeared behind him and started throwing magic and arrows in their direction. Fenris grabbed Hawke by the wrist and pulled her around the corner and through a door.

“What the hell was that?” Hawke yelled as they ran down the steps.

Fenris hesitated slightly and shot her an incredulous look. “You want to do this _here? Now?_ ”

“You could have warned me!” Hawke hissed as she followed him.

“And you could have told me that you knew who I was!” he snapped.

“Look, I’m _sorry!_ I didn’t know if you were going to trust me, or if you would hate me after I told you!” she said.

He paused again as he opened another door through the pantry, his eyes scorching upon her beneath furrowed brows. “ _Festis bei umo canavarum,_ woman _._ We can discuss this _after_ we’re done running for our lives.”

She pressed her lips together and followed him down a flight of stairs that were barely lit by even a torch.

“But what about the others?”

“Tallis will gather them,” he said.

“But wait, Fenris,” she said. “Tallis has been taken.”

“Has she?” he said. “They won’t be able to hold her for long. But we need to keep moving. This mission is bigger than you believe, Hawke.”

“You mean you’ve been planning this from the beginning?”

“She spoke to me before she went down to meet you. When Taelan couldn’t free me, he contacted Tallis. She was able to get messages past Danarius. After everything, her plan worked perfectly – especially with you being kept in the dark about it. We needed to make him believe that he had won.”

She sighed. “Great. Now, how do you suppose her plan is going to save Carver?”

He glanced at her and said nothing as he took her hand and dragged her through the cavern. “I do not know,” he admitted. “But Danarius has turned him into a blood puppet. I do not know if such things can be reversed. I have only seen it end in the death of the body.”

Hawke’s heart clenched. “But there has to be a way to save him.”

“And perhaps there is,” he sighed. “But for now we need to keep moving. When we reach the others, we can take that bastard down once and for all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Festis bei umo canavarum - You will be the death of me
> 
> ...
> 
> Heh heh heh. <3


	35. The Price of Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's showtime. *The Final Countdown plays in the distance*

Fenris led Hawke further beneath the tunnels of the mansion until finally, they reached a small room beside a ladder that led outside. Fenris pulled her into the room and knelt down in front of a large wooden chest.

“Tallis had this brought here. We will need armor if we are to make it past Danarius and Hadriana.”

He opened the chest to reveal his black, spiked armor. Pulling his armor out, Hawke saw her own armor beneath it. “But you didn’t know I would be coming down here,” she said with a frown.

“No, but we guessed. Here, put it on. Those silks won’t protect you,” he said, eyeing her black leggings and the silken bodice. “However attractive they may be on you.”

Hawke blushed as he handed her the armor. She yanked her leggings off and slipped the armor over what was left. Fenris followed suit, stripping off his slave clothes and casting them on the floor. Hawke stared at them as she latched her final gauntlet on. She stared at the clothes for a moment.

Fenris was tightening his foot wraps when he heard a small blast. He turned suddenly to see Hawke strolling out of the door, the clothes suddenly turned to ash. He gave a small chuckle and followed her out of the room, stopping beside the doorway as a gleam of silver caught his eye. He pulled the greatsword up from the wall and strapped it to his back. _Tallis really does think of everything._

Hawke stood beside the ladder, her staff hooked to her back. She cracked her neck and gave Fenris a smile as he exited the room.

“Are you ready?” Fenris said putting one hand on the ladder.

“Not quite,” she said, stepping toward him. “If we are going to die a horrible death, I’d like to at least get a kiss before all that.”

Fenris stared at her.

“Unless, of course, you don’t want to,” she said with a laugh, “you can always say no.”

He was quiet. _Did I read him wrong?_ Hawke’s smile faded slightly. Two gauntleted hands reached for her and hooked onto the sides of her breastplate, eliciting a small gasp. He pulled her into a searing kiss. She wrapped her arms around him, gripping him tightly to her. His tongue slipped in between her lips and across her own. She gently bit his lip, to which he responded by pressing her against the tunnel wall.  

When he pulled away, he lingered in front of her for a moment, their breaths heavy.

“So,” she said with a sly smile, “walls? That’s your thing, hm?”

He laughed and released her, taking a few steps back. “Let’s go, Hawke. The others will be needing us.”

She nodded and followed him up the ladder.

***

Hawke and Fenris stepped out of the hatch and into an open field beside the estate. Several yards away, a dark-haired woman stood, her staff ready as she sneered at them. The wind has picked up, her dark hair dancing in the breeze over piercing blue eyes. Hawke pulled her staff from her back slowly, and Fenris drew his sword.

“Hadriana,” Fenris growled under his breath.

Hadriana began to walk slowly to the side, and Hawke mirrored her by walking toward the other side. “You cannot hope to win, thief,” she spat. “The law is the law. And that elf’s life,” she said, lifting her finger to point at Fenris, “is not for sale.”

“You’re right,” Hawke said, stopping. “He isn’t for sale. Because Fenris is a free man.”

She pulled her hand back, a ball of fire growing inside her palm. She launched it at the mage. Hadriana threw her staff forward, blocking the attack with a magical shield. The mage bent her head back to laugh.

“You can say that all you want,” she laughed, “but that will never make it _true._ He was born a slave, and he will die a slave. No words or pathetic attempts at magic are going to change that fact.”

Hawke straightened, and made a beeline for the mage. She could hear Fenris calling her back, but she didn’t stop. As she walked, she cast fireball after fireball, and Hadriana blocked each one. When Hawke was a mere two feet away, Hadriana tilted her chin up, the smile on her face fading.

“What are you –” she started. Hawke swung the blade of her staff up, the edge landing on Hadriana’s neck. The mage stopped dead, her eyes widening. Her mouth turned downward, and she threw her staff up, knocking Hawke’s blade away. Hawke spun the staff, hitting her with the blade several times. She sliced her side, and Hadriana staggered back. Hawke threw a blast of ice, freezing her instantly. Hadriana fell to the ground, her skin blue from the cold. _But still alive._ She pulled herself to a seated position and scrambled back, putting only a small distance between them. Hawke pointed the staff’s blade at her, fire licking her fingertips.

“Hawke,” Fenris said right behind her. _When did he get there?_ She looked to see Danarius standing a few yards away with several guards and mages beside him. The guards and mages began circling them, and Fenris took a step toward Hawke, shielding her back. Hadriana made a choking cry that almost sounded like joy.

“My dear, you are really trying my patience,” he said with a sneer.

“I held them at bay, ser,” Hadriana said, standing up. Hawke kept her blade trained to the woman.

Danarius snorted. “Just barely. Now, all of you, restrain the elf, and kill the other one. I can’t afford to let her leave alive.”

The guards pointed their weapons, and the mages prepared their spells. Hadriana pulled herself back and joined the rest of the guards, a triumphant smile on her face.

“What’s the plan now?” Hawke said, silently counting their numbers. _Twenty. Shit._ “We each get ten, I suppose. We’ve had worse odds.”

“ _Hawke_. This is not the time.”

“Oh, please. There’s no time like the present,” she said. She spun her staff and threw down a wall of ice, the sharp points stabbing several of the guards. Fenris made a wide swing at the guards coming at them from the mansion. A large warrior emerged from the sea of mages, unsheathing his blade as he steadily walked in their direction. Hawke saw movement from the corner of her eye and barely turned in time to see his sword swing down hard, meeting her staff that now blocked the blade’s path. The staff began to crack under the weight, and Hawke clenched her teeth, holding fast. Fenris swung, his sword knocking back the warrior a step. He kept swinging, trying to beat him back enough to separate him from Hawke. Hawke threw fire, careful to miss Fenris each time, but grimacing as one or two singed his silver hair. A couple mages ran at her, and she swung her staff’s blade, cutting both of them down. Finally, Fenris knocked the sword from the warrior’s hand, and made another wide swing. The warrior fell to his knees and collapsed. There was a stillness in the air as Hawke turned back to Danarius and Hadriana. She raised her staff’s blade to Danarius, the fire burning in her eyes. Danarius sighed in annoyance. “Good help is so hard to come by these days.”

“Hawke!” Varric said behind her. She heard a group of feet running to her side, but she refused to take her eyes off of Danarius. _This ends now._

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Fenris coming to stand beside her on one side, and Anders on the other.

“Where have you been?” she hissed to Anders.

“I had to get everyone together.”

“Took you long enough,” she mumbled under her breath.

“ _While_ Justice was threatening to break through. That’s a bit difficult considering the circumstances,” he snapped.

She sighed heavily and began walking towards the two mages.

Danarius whispered something to Hadriana who looked nervously at Hawke before she took off running.

“Don’t let her get away,” Hawke called back to the group. A bolt zipped past her, hitting Hadriana in the leg, bringing her down. An arrow flew through the air and sunk into her chest. She fell back, her blood pooling across the earth.

Danarius scoffed. He lifted his hand and snapped, giving Hawke slight pause. “Carver, be a good dear and take care of these miscreants, will you?”

Carver emerged beside him, with a group of nearly twenty beside him. Carver looked so hollow, his eyes looking sunken, and his skin pale, as though Danarius had begun to transform him into a darkspawn to do his bidding.

Hawke snapped. Adrenaline rushed through her, as she mentally called to the spirit to help her take them down. Fire ripped through her, exploding around her as she shot streams of fire and ice at the soldiers, the elements bent around the magister. He pulled a barrier around himself, his anger growing as she cut his men down. Her friends joined her on their small battlefield, taking on the other men.

When she had closed the distance between herself and Carver, the emptiness in his eyes grew into pure rage, likely the rage of Danarius. Whispers from the spirit echoed in her ears, and she felt its magic swirling within her as she looked at her brother. She clenched her teeth and swung her staff, the blows cracking her staff more as he met each swing with his own blade. The strength of the spirits coursed through her, and she beat him back several yards, away from the rest of the party, and away from his blood master. The rage was evaporating from his eyes the further she pushed him back until finally, she cast a mind blast. He fell backwards and landed flat on the ground, his body struggling to pull itself back up. When he managed to sit up, Hawke knelt beside him.

“Sleep,” she whispered, “Sleep now, brother.” She held the back of his neck and pressed her palm to his forehead as the spirit magic pulsed through her veins. Carver collapsed again, his body limp. She carefully laid him down on the ground.

 _Don’t worry,_ the spirit said to her. _Don’t worry, he can’t be hurt anymore._

An image of Bethany appeared in her mind as she looked down at her brother. Her breath hitched, and she looked back at the fire and destruction.

Danarius would pay. Fire sprang from her fingers as she rushed back to the heat of the fight, ready to destroy every Tevinter mage in her path.

Sweat was dripping from her forehead, the fire engulfing the soldiers around them. Hawke clenched her teeth, and turned to face Danarius. Smoke veiled the distance between them, but she could see the wrath burning in his eyes. He readied his staff. Hawke held her breath, slicing her forearm on the edge of her armor, willing her blood to assist her. She could hear the spirit murmuring deep within her as she twirled her staff in circles around her, the smoke, fire, and blood moving with her as she moved towards him, the flames bending to her will as a shield formed around her. The magister hesitated, his brows furrowing in confusion. The world seemed to slow as she planted herself firmly on the ground several paces away from him.

Danarius yelled something at her as he swung his staff, throwing several bolts of lightning. Her shield held, absorbing the lightning into itself. Hawke took a deep breath as more flashes of lighting erupted from his staff, each bolt absorbing itself into her shield. Danarius threw ice and flames, each absorbing themselves into the shield. He threw his staff down, raising his hands to conjure another spell. She could feel gravity pulling itself around her. She nearly bit her lip as she felt the energy falling toward her from above. Centering the force of her shield, she focused it on the air above her. Several cracks erupted through the shield, as though it were made of glass. She clenched her teeth and whipped her staff around, pulling the shield with it in one fluid motion, throwing all the elements toward the magister. He flew back in a chaotic blast of elements, hitting the ground.

Hawke’s knuckles whitened around her staff as she walked slowly toward the fallen magister. She circled him, holding a small flame in the palm of her hand. She almost jumped when she heard him cough, blood sputtering from his lips. His eyelids opened slowly, and as his gaze moved to her face, his eyes narrowed.

“Fucking Ferelden trash,” he spat.

She lowered her blade to his neck, pressing until he hissed in pain. Soft steps padded across the ground behind her, but before she could look, Fenris came into view. He stood above Danarius, his jaw locked as he stared at his former master.

“If you would like to do the honors?” Hawke murmured.

Fenris’ markings lit up and he held up his hand. Hawke swore she could see a glimmer of fear in the magister’s eyes. But those eyes flashed toward her, and he grabbed a hold of her staff, twisting the blade away, hitting her in the jaw with it. Fenris lunged forward as Danarius rolled back onto his feet and cast a shield around himself. Fenris attempted to slice through with his glowing hand, only to be kicked back by the shield. Hawke threw several spells, but none could break his defenses.

Danarius cast a lightning bolt that shot at Fenris, throwing him to the ground and knocking him out. Hawke turned her heel to get to him, but Danarius shot another bolt at her, just barely missing her. She clenched her teeth and readied her staff. The magister walked towards her, and she began pulling the elements to herself again, preparing to absorb any magic he threw. From the side she saw Anders running to them and kneeling down to help Fenris. The rest of the group was busy fighting off the magister’s lackeys, but Hawke was grateful that Anders had managed to slip away.

Suddenly, a fist collided with her face. She fell back, releasing her staff. He twirled her staff and cast a ball of fire at her, the flames landing against her thigh. She dropped to the ground and rolled to put out the flame, and was met with a staff blade nearly cutting into her side. Danarius stood over her, teeth bared. She grabbed the staff and kicked upward, nailing him in his stomach. He grimaced and kicked back, striking her jaw. Pain exploded across her face, stunning her.

Anders, having stabilized Fenris, jumped up to help. Danarius cast another lightning spell, this time acting as an electric cage to hold both men.

The magister crouched down, seating himself on Hawke’s chest, knees crushing her arms against the dirt. With one hand, he grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling it back to expose her neck. He took his knife from his belt and crushed it against the side of her throat. She could feel blood trickling down her skin and dripping onto the dirt.

“So you’re a blood mage too, I see?” he said with a terrifying grin. “No wonder Fenris went straight to you. It seems he has a type.”

She sighed. “You know, you’re really getting on my nerves.” With one armored hand, she bent her arm and dug the claws into his leg. Crimson ran down his thigh, but he held firm to his hold on her. She took a deep breath, willing the blood to her, and it ignited fire within her. Heat poured from her fingers, willing his blood to boil within the veins of his leg. He let out a yelp and struggled to move from her grip. She parted her lips as though to blow air and flames erupted from her mouth, burning the magister’s face. He cried out, loosening his grip on her, and she used her legs to flip him off of her, rolling and landing on her feet as he writhed on the ground. She grabbed her staff and twirled it as she walked over to him and unceremoniously drove her staff blade into his stomach. His cries of pain halted, and she could see a look of confusion moving across his face.

“There’s no point in trying any longer,” she said. Fenris appeared on the other side, looking a little worse for wear.

Danarius turned to the elf and sneered. “You’d be nothing without me. Remember that.”

Hawke stepped on his neck, choking him. “Do it, Fenris,” she said quietly.

Fenris nodded and knelt down, his markings beginning to glow. He reached into Danarius’s chest and pulled out his heart. He crushed it in his hand as Danarius spent his last seconds staring on in horror, and threw it onto the ground away from him. With a snap of Hawke’s fingers the heart combusted, turning it to ash.  

Anders and Merrill walked through the field that had grown overly quiet and put out the fire that thankfully hadn’t spread too far due to the mixture of ice magic they had thrown. Tallis and another elf, who Hawke hadn’t noticed were there during the fight, walked around to make sure all of the magister’s soldiers were dead. She passed by Hadriana’s dead body, Hawke walked back to her brother, and knelt beside him, pulling him close to her. She couldn’t place why, but some part of her felt as though Bethany was there, holding on to him with her.

Fenris knelt beside her. “Is there anything that can be done for him?”

She pressed her lips together. The spirit buzzed from within her, whispering, and she frowned. “I… think I know a way,” she said. “But I don’t think Carver will like it very much.”

“What do you mean?”

She laid her brother down on the ground and held her hands over him. In the world of blood magic, demons were never to be trusted. They would not give more than they received in return, and the price was always higher in the end for those who resorted to their help. As far as Hawke knew, there had never been any writings or studies done with spirits who would assist in such a way. From what she could feel from the spirit within her, this was because many spirits did not ever choose to live outside the Fade – for many did not have a purpose to leave. Justice may have been the only spirit she knew of who had found a reason to live outside the Fade – but this spirit, this Courage, did not seem to have any ties to the physical world other than Hawke, and helping her through all the trials she had faced since coming to her that day with the Arishok. Hawke couldn’t place why the spirit had wanted to help her or her brother – but what she did know was that now it had a way to save her brother, and regardless of its motivation to do so, she had an obligation to save him. As she laid her hands over him, the spirit pulling Fade magic through the Veil, she could feel it latching on to him, a connection that she understood, but that he had never felt before in his life. He would be scared when he awoke, but it would be the only way the spirits could save him from the brink of death, and pull his spirit back into his body after Danarius had left it an empty shell. It was a gift that could not be given lightly, and the spirit knew this. The color returned to Carver’s face, and his chest steadily rose and fell, as though he was simply asleep.  

“Help me carry him,” Hawke said softly.

“What did you do?” Fenris replied, lifting Carver with her.

“I’ll… explain it to you later. First, let’s get him inside. He’s going to need his rest for a while.”

***

The moon was barely setting overhead when the group returned to the gardens. The party was still in full swing, most of the nobles completely drunk. Hawke felt strange about returning to the party after everything that had happened, but somehow knowing that her brother and Fenris were both safe put her mind at ease. They had burned the bodies and returned to Dorian to tell him everything, and he and Livia quickly came up with a seamless story to tell his father and any nobles that asked. They dressed Fenris in festive clothes that helped cover his tattoos – even if they slightly glowed beneath the fabric – and moved them to a more secluded section of the grounds with very few nobles passing by as they sat around a large table, drinking wine. Hawke was dressed back in the gown that Dorian’s servants had retrieved from the tunnels, much to her own dismay – she would have preferred the comfort of her armor, but knew it would have drawn too much attention.

“Are you sure we’re allowed to be here?” Merrill said behind them.

“Well, we _were_ invited,” Hawke said. “So it’s not as though we’re trespassing.”

“We did just kill a magister, though,” Anders said quietly.

“It’s as I said before.” Dorian stepped before them, a grin growing across his face. “If a Tevinter ball lacks at least three deaths, we sniff and call it a bore.”

“I’m glad we could provide the entertainment,” Hawke said slyly.

“Come,” Dorian said, fanning his arm out before them. “Join the festivities. The night is still young.”

The orchestra began playing an upbeat song as they joined the guests that were now twirling elegantly in the gardens. As the rest of the group moved towards the circle of dancing that was now forming, Marian stepped forward only to have herself pulled back to Fenris’ hard chest. His eyes softened as he looked down at her. With one arm wrapped tightly around her waist and the other holding her hand, and began to slowly dance with her.

“Fenris?” she said incredulously.

“Hawke?” he chuckled.

“You do not dance,” she said, raising one eyebrow.

“Is that so?” he smirked. “I am a free man, now. I can do as I please.”

 She laughed, her chin tilted up to him. “So what do you plan to do with your freedom?”

He looked away, bewilderment crossing his features. “I am not sure. I supposed I could search for my mother and sister.”

“And now you can search for them without the fear of Danarius finding you,” she replied.

“I could,” he said, his eyes growing distant as the thought sunk in. “I-I would not know where to begin.”

“Magister Verres would be a good person to ask,” she said softly. His eyes changed as he looked down at her, and he pulled away. Her heart sank. She knew he should be furious with her for keeping these answers from him, and she didn’t expect him to forgive her instantly – but some foolish part of her had hoped that was the case. He walked toward the other end of the gardens. He stood at the railing, looking over at the edge to the fountains and mazes below. Hawke followed and stood beside him.

“I suppose now is a good a time as any to talk about this,” she said softly.

“I suppose it is,” he said, his fingers clutching the stone railing. “You kept the truth from me, Hawke. Not just the knowledge you had of my past, my family, but our past as well. You knew the whole time, and yet…” he paused, and turned to face her. “I want to know why.”

Hawke gripped the railing like a lifeline. “How much do you remember, now?”

“I remember…” he started, tilting his face toward the sky. “Denerim. The sea that stretched far to the horizon. I remember my mother, my sister, and bringing bread home to them every day. I remember you, and how we ran through the streets as children. I remember my friend Taelan, who comforted me after that day on the beach where we…” he stopped short. “I would think I remember most of what happened. There are still gaps, but not many. Not anymore. I remember the fight to free my family, and the day I received these wretched markings. I remember – I found you in my dreams. You gave me the will to go on.” He turned back to her. “I realize that when I arrived in Kirkwall, my return was years after I had said goodbye without an explanation. I knew not at that particular moment how much it would wound our friendship – not until much later – but I have never known you not to trust me with the truth.”

Hawke sucked in a breath. “I was afraid,” she said softly. “Afraid you would believe me to be another mage trying to trick you, and I had no way of proving any of it to you. All I had was memories. I did not want to risk losing you again. But I was selfish – you had every right to make that decision for yourself. I knew it then, but every time I felt it was time my fear would get the better of me.”

“When the memories first resurfaced, I was furious. You had kept so much from me, so much that I needed to know. But the more they unfolded, the more I understood,” he replied. “You knew that I am mistrustful of magic users – for good reason – and I would have not accepted you as anything else until I knew you better. But…”

Her muscles tensed.

“But you should have told me. Once you knew I trusted you. It would have been hard, but it would have been better than discovering the truth only after I had been captured by Danarius again.”

Her heart sank, and shame roiled through her. “I understand if… if what I have done has changed everything.”

“Much has changed. But it does not mean I do not forgive you.” She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his. His hand cupped her cheek. “And it does not mean that what I feel for you has changed, either.”

She reached her hand up to meet his, wrapping her fingers around his palm.

“Besides,” he continued, “I will need your help to find my family. We may find slave hunters along the way, as well.”

She couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. “It would be my pleasure.”

He smiled and pulled her closer, kissing her forehead.

“Let us join the rest of the group,” he said.

He walked her back to the table. Hawke looked around at her friends, who were all red-faced and smiling, and she couldn’t help but feel completely at ease. Carver, all things considered, was safe and healing. Fenris was free of Danarius, and the world was finally peaceful.

A blond elf emerged from the table and approached them, his eyes locked onto Fenris. Hawke frowned. She had seen him during the fight earlier, as well.

“Well, then, my friend,” he said with a bright smile. “Now we are finally free.”

Fenris smiled back at him. “That we are.”

Hawke looked between them, sensing a strange tension. The blond elf turned his gaze to her and held his hand out. “My name is Taelan, by the way. I am a friend of Fenris, formerly a slave in the same household. Nice to finally meet the Champion of Kirkwall.”

She accepted his hand. “The pleasure is mine. I appreciate your help in the fight.”

He shrugged. “I’m just sorry I didn’t get to take the final blow on Danarius myself. Hadriana makes up for it, though.”

She raised one eyebrow. “That was a nice shot. Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

He laughed. “I believe the feeling is mutual. In any event, Tallis was about to begin a game of Wicked Grace, if you two would like to join.”

Hawke nodded, and they joined the rest of the group.

***

When the night began to die down, the sun peaking up over the horizon, the group began pulling themselves to their beds for some much-needed sleep before the long journey home. Fenris leaned against one of the garden trees, watching the sun rise over what felt like a new world. Hawke kissed Fenris’ forehead before following the rest of the group inside, leaving him to enjoy his newfound freedom. Nothing felt certain, now. He had his family to look for, of course. But then what would he do? He took a swig from the emerald wine bottle in his grip, reveling in the summer wine of the north.

Soft footsteps approached, and he jumped back. Taelan stopped, holding his hands up. “It’s just me,” he said, waiting until Fenris visibly relaxed to approach him.

“I apologize,” Fenris said, leaning back against the tree, twisting the cork back into the bottle. “It may take me a while to…”

“Get used to not being pursued by your former master?”

“Yes,” he said, setting the bottle down and crossing his arms. “He may be dead, but the memories linger.”

“I understand,” Taelan replied.

The two stood in silence for several moments, before Taelan sucked in a breath. “I’m happy for you, you know,” he said. “Hawke seems like she really cares about you.”

“She does,” Fenris replied.

“I’m leaving today,” Taelan went on. “To return to my clan. My little sister will kill me for taking so long, but I suppose it’s better late than never.”

Fenris met his eyes. “I wish you luck on your journey, then.”

Taelan bit his lip. “And you as well, my friend.” He lingered for a moment, the air seeming heavy with all that was left unsaid, before turning to walk toward the front gate. Fenris watched as his friend climb the mansion wall and leap over to the other side. He sighed, his arms dropping to his sides. He was ready for sleep to claim him.

He made his way across the gardens to the east wing, slipping through the door and down the hall. Hawke had mentioned which room was hers, even though Dorian had offered a separate room for him just in case he needed it. His hand clutched the doorknob and turned it, pulling himself through the doorway. The morning light was spilling through the curtains, beams of light streaming over the sleeping figure on the bed. Hawke’s chest rose and fell peacefully, her hand curling over her head. He smiled and walked silently to the bed, pulling off his shirt before climbing in beside her. As his eyes closed, he suddenly felt the bed shift as Marian rolled closer to him, her head resting on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, a smile lingering on his lips as he sank into dreaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, here it is. We have a couple more chapters left before the end! I'm going to try to finish it up soon - it's taken a long time to get here (between working, depression, and writer's block, it's been hard to update frequently) but we are so close! I thank you guys for your patience, and hope you have enjoyed this as much as I have enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Much love <3


End file.
